


The Lone Wolf and the Last Dragon

by Christina_Potter_09



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dark, Dark Jonsa, Dark Magic, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Implied Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, King Bran Stark, Mention of - Freeform, Minor Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Multichapter, Pol!Jon, Slow Burn, WIP, and each other, and it's about time for everyone to deal with it, angry, angsty, dark themes, god of light themes, him first, imperfect characters, jon and sansa will face all their problems, more characters will show up or will be mentioned, only jonsa, pol!sansa, post season 8 fic, properly goddamnit, to the bone, various political themes, with lots of angst and feels and tears and frustration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:41:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 36
Words: 165,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23486239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Christina_Potter_09/pseuds/Christina_Potter_09
Summary: 'You betrayed me!' Jon seethed, his grip around her arms tightening. She barked a laugh only a she-wolf would dare before him.'Did I?' Sansa asked in mockery, ignoring the irongrip, she had felt worse. 'The difference between us isn't big, Aegon. It's simply that while I tamed my demons, yours tamed you and-' her words were cut off by his lips in a bruising kiss that stole their breaths away.The North and the Six Kingdoms struggle to cope with the consequences of the past. Two young Wolves try to rule over the ashes and ruins of what the kingdoms have become. Bran the Broken is dead, Sansa Stark reaches King's Landing for the passing of her brother and another Great Council assembled. Only for it to be destroyed by the arrival of the last Targaryen and his dragon, a man changed with his identity embraced.Aegon Targaryen returns and he's ready to claim what is rightfully his, taken and changed by Bran and Sansa Stark. The Queen in the North didn't bend in front of her abusers and captors, she didn't break for the Dragon Queen or the Dead. The Lone Wolf wouldn't bend before the last Dragon, no matter how fast her heart beaten every time he neared her, his presence so different, yet so familiar.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 1126
Kudos: 1008





	1. Sansa I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SainTalia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SainTalia/gifts).



> Welcome to a brand new story of mine for Jon and Sansa, this will be full of angst and feels so you have been warned, it will also be a slow burn with eventual angry sex (I believe) hence the warnings. Mention of past abuse, self-confidence issues, family drama and strong language. Adult themes in general so please keep that in mind as you continue.  
> My challenge for this is to have chapters by jon and sansa's pov, one each time, we'll see if i can keep that up. I can't promise if there will be many small chaps or few bigger ones, lets just go with the flow.  
> Thank you and welcome!

_Chapter One - Sansa_

_The Lone Wolf dies, but the Pack survives._

  
  
  


_She was in childbed, crimson blood everywhere. Ramsay’s child was tearing its way through her body._

_Make it be dead. She screamed in agony at the child’s first cry._

_Dragonfire, wildfire, screams, dead bodies, ashes everywhere, falling from the sky, in the water, clouding the horizon and hiding the sun. Arya fell before the horse, Sansa dismounted and rushed to her sister, blooded and shocked, afraid, disoriented._

_‘They have Jon, they want to execute him.’ She barely whispered before she could collapse. Sansa’s eyes were wild, fighting the bile rising in her throat._

Sansa woke with a startle, groaning as she sat on the unfamiliar bed, pushing back the clinging hair from her sweaty forehead. The bloody place woke every nightmare deep buried in her heart, the heat from the bloody South made everything worse. 

They had chosen a different chamber for the Queen in the North, her previous quarters had collapsed under the Dragon Queen’s attack. She hated that chamber anyway, she had almost set it on fire herself, while trying to hide her first flowering. Gods, how many first times she had in that place, and now she was there for one more wrong start. 

She stood up from the bed, poured some water in a cup and tried to swallow it down, even the water tasted different there. The North’s water came from boiled snow, this one was coming from wells, it tasted like the city, repulsing. 

She set down the cup and moved towards the open doors leading to the balcony, the sea breeze ruffling her nightgown, raising goosebumps on sweaty skin. Humid, warm air, filled with salt, she missed the crisp feel of the air in Winterfell. 

Her return to the North would only mean the death of her baby brother -or whatever Bran had turned out to be-. She wished this would happen soon and then she hated herself for wishing such a thing. 

It had been four years, four hard years of recovery for the North and the Six Kingdoms under the Stark rule. Once already, the realms came on the verge of starvation and only through effort, the Wolves across the continent stopped it before it began. The North had been hit hard after the Battle for the Dawn, Spring had arrived but the land had been burren for decades before it. Hard to give fruit and unyielding, Sansa had driven herself in personal debt to White Harbor and House Manderly for the needed resources. She had promised to repay the loan both with money and in kind, and she had been lucky the Manderlies’ successors were girls. She would pay them however, after her own successor was old enough, she would, when any possible fruit of her own womb wouldn’t matter anymore because frankly, she planned to have none. 

The South had been savaged by the wars, the Capital’s sacking had been the beginning of an era full of problems and financial instability. The Iron Bank demanded its money. Essos struggled to maintain their trade with Westeros due to both continents' slow recovery in all levels. The Free Cities left in a disarray as great as the one Westeros were in after the Dragon Queen's "liberation". Bran and his council had hoped for Highgarden’s support but Bronn had become its Lord by Tyrion, a movement seen with hatred from the Reach, made by the last Lannister whose family had destroyed House Tyrell and never elected one of the families there for Master of Coin. And Bronn had proven as incapable as someone would expect, wasting coin without much reason and ending up relying on mobs and a kingsguard made of mercenaries to keep the peace in the streets of the starving King’s Landing. 

Sansa sighed as she stood behind the bench of the balcony, watching the sleeping city. Bran was sick and dying, Arya was gone. Jon… Sansa sighed at his thought. He was gone too, she had to accept it even if it was hard to. Either because he died, or because he decided he would never give a signal of life. But even if the final months close to him were awkward and hard, Sansa believed to have known him. Jon wasn’t a cruel man, if it was upon his hand, he would have replied to one of her wandering ravens, he would let her scouts find him. His complete silence only led her to believe he was truly gone. 

The wet snout in her palm jerked her out of her thoughts, and valified them. Ghost had shown up, out of the blue, many moons back. And Sansa simply verified her worst fear, Jon was dead, and the direwolf searched for the closest person he knew was family. And Sansa, left with the remains of her pack, she had accepted Ghost warmly, her new protector, her wolf and companion. 

The Red Wolf, the Independent Wolf, Ice Queen, the Queen in the North, The Winter Rose. The Bringer of Spring. So many titles and names given with love by her people, but she only cared for their wellbeing and prosperity. She had bled for the North as Lady of Winterfell, as Lannister and Bolton, as the Bastard and the Murderer, the Whore, the Unfortunate. And she kept bleeding, as she spread balms on the scars of her body every night, as she fought for the grain storages to be full, to feed her people. She tried so hard to be just and honourable. She had wished to be Queen, but she had never expected her wish to come true thus. 

Yet again, what dream of hers didn’t come true twisted and strange?

The hammering at the door had Sansa jumping in her skin and Ghost growling as Brienne burst inside the room. Only the female knight would be sent to invade like that, any other and Ghost would have devoured them. Brienne searched the chamber with her eyes before they could land on Sansa, lips closing, composing herself, she didn’t seem surprised to see Sansa awake, Brienne knew very well how nights unfolded for Sansa. She had been there, shaking her lady awake from nightmares that didn’t differ very much from the ugly images Sansa had seen that very night. 

‘Sansa…’ Brienne spoke the name as they were in private. She hadn’t heard her name in a long time, always called with titles, yet by the tone she knew, her friend was there for the expected. ‘Your brother, the King…’ Brienne whispered and Sansa nodded, grabbing her robe. ‘It’s time.’ she only added, they both knew, they would be leaving the South together. Sansa had allowed Brienne to stay in the South, where she belonged, extending her service on taking care of Bran. But Bran’s life was finishing and Cersei Lannister’s ghost in the Red Keep was too much for Brienne as much as it had been for Sansa herself. 

Queen and knight rushed towards the King’s chambers, wolf on toe. The door was guarded but opened before Sansa could reach for it. Bronn was there among Tyrion, Sansa passed by them, reaching her brother’s bed quickly. Sam was trying to keep him calm but the young king was writhing on his bed, eyes wide, body weak and withering. 

He had been taken by sickness little by little over the past years. Sam had tried to explain the condition in one of his many letters. The South melted away the crippled, young man. He didn’t belong there and that was mirrored in his appetite, his senses, even his mentality. He frequently became delirious, speaking of an old tree among the snow. He spoke of his old protector Hodor and Meera Reed. Sansa had tried to reach Meera, she had received a heartbreaking refusal. 

Bran gripped at Sansa’s hand and she held at him as he whispered deliriously. She tried to understand what sounds he made through his chipped lips. 

‘I’m right here, Bran, right here.’ Sansa tried to soothe him. She had held him as a baby, after her Lady Mother had given birth to him. She had been sad he was a boy, she had hoped for another baby sister. She had never expected how little she would live close to him, how soon he was to be gone. ‘Bran, look at me, it will be alright.’ Sansa tried to persuade him in vain. He gasped through clenched teeth and struggled to focus on her. 

‘I… I was never meant to be Lord of anything.’ Only Sansa knew what these words meant. That day in the Godswood, when he had stirred all her agonies back at her. 

‘You did your best,’ Sansa tried to pacify him, she would never turn his failures at him. Bran shook his head stubbornly. 

‘He’s coming,’ Bran tried through gasps of air, his face screwing up in pain as he tried to breathe. Sansa glanced frantically around his small council before she could look back at her baby brother who was struggling to remain with them. 

‘We’re all here, Bran. Who’s coming?’ She tried again, soothing, pacifying, burying her family, she had been used to it. She would be returning home with the bones of yet another Stark to be added in the crypts. 

‘The Dragon...’ Bran whimpered before he could drag out his final breath, body relaxing, grip going slack, eyes stilling as they looked away. 

The room fell silent, for moments or hours, everyone remained still and silent. Until realisation kicked in, succeeding confusion and shock. Sansa leaned in, whimpers escaping her lips, tears running down her cheeks. Picking up her brother by the shoulders, skin and bone, he had lost weight, literally withering away, he was still warm. She closed his eyes in her arms, eyes that had seen so much, eyes that once had been full of mirth, the eyes of a child who loved to climb. Like she had done with Rickon and Arya, like she had wished she could have done with Robb and her mother, Sansa Stark cried for Bran and the world remained silent for the lone wolf’s howl to be heard from the Southern capital and across the world. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small intro to what is happening, a bit depressing situation, I know. Sansa is basically alone, we'll explore more of her years in the North in future chapters, for now I needed you to have a glimpse of what she's been up to and her difficulties with the kingdoms. Ghost is with her!!!! they deserved each other, damn it! As Season 8 ended, I don't think things would go very well with such idiots in the small council of a crippled king with no heirs and Sansa alone in the North that got through hell to save everyone's asses, only to have Yara Greyjoy support the Dragon Queen after the genocide.... my frustration for that season is endless.  
> thank you for reading, please comment? let me know what you think and what you noticed happening through it all  
> stay safe!


	2. Jon I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> your response to the first chapter is humbling me, I was inspired by the response so here is the second chap. thank you so much!

_Chapter Two - Jon_ _  
  
_

_“We all do our duty when there's no cost to it. Honor comes easy then. Yet, sooner or later in every man's life there comes a day when it's not easy. A day when he must choose between honor on the one hand and those he loves on the other...”_

The wolf’s howl followed him for a long time after he passed through the Wall’s exit. Moving further North. After the heat of dragonfire, the scourging of the South, he only pushed further North. Spring followed on his back but he pushed harder. 

Jon tried for the people beyond the Wall, the only he had been left. The only people he didn’t fail. Until they found a valley good enough. Until Tormund settled them and stayed behind while Jon pushed on. He never promised he would return even if Tormund had demanded of him to. No, no more promises, no more failures. He needed to find his honor, his word, his reason, and that need only pushed him further North, even if his crave sang for him to return South. 

He knew Sansa was struggling, he had been under that crown himself, not as successfully as she, but he knew that crown’s weight. She had pushed it on his head, fought to keep it there, only for him to bend and twist it, smothering her fire-kissed head with it. 

Her betrayal had been bitter, an open, festered wound, still bleeding its vindication into his bloodstream. 

_“The North is Yours…”_

_“Did you bend the knee because of the North, or because you love her?”_

_“Do you have any faith in me at all?”_

_“You know I do.”_

He hadn’t answered her question, he had only burdened her with one of his own, and she had answered. He had only kept her gaze, battered, betrayed, bare, afraid. He had respected that fear because he knew its taste, he had it on his own tongue, poisoning him. Moons before his departure for Dragonstone, he had realised so, maybe even before she had -if she ever had-, he knew a woman jealous, a woman in love, and he loved that specific one more than anything else, he had promised to protect her from the cruelty the world held. 

He had hidden the truth from her, yes, but he would never lie to her. Because of the Dead, because of the armies and the Dragons, that had been half the truth. Because he wasn’t a Lannister and she had suffered enough in their hands, was the other half. She had been bestowed with enough shame, enough guilt and wounds. He wouldn’t make her suffer yet another, even if they both bled anyway. 

He had held his tongue and his heart. He had remained silent, idle, trying the same trick he had for Daenerys, and he had failed with Sansa of course. 

Instead, he armed her with another truth of his, another weapon in her arsenal. She yielded no sword, she had no idea about battles, she had admitted so herself. But her mind, sharpened by the monsters who raised her, trained by schemers and traitors... her mind was probably the most lethal weapon in Westeros. And he had loaded that weapon with a secret he knew she wouldn’t keep. He knew she would answer his betrayal with one of her own -a necessity, their relationship a collateral damage that couldn’t be prevented- they both struggled to persuade themselves, he was sure of it. He had been desperate to save everyone, and in that desperation, he pushed her to step on her honor and her vow, and for that violation, he would always be angry with himself. That failed, flickering part of his honor would always pain him for manipulating her. Even if another part, that of his desire for her, had filled with relief at the knowledge he hadn’t lusted after his own sister. He craved for his cousin, his beautiful cousin, fire-kissed and tall and rarely smiling, usually for him. He imagined her face while he pacified the Dragon Queen, he fought to keep from calling out his cousin’s name when he spilled in the barren beauty beneath him. He struggled to breathe around his cousin, the cousin he had harassed every man who even dared utter the name of. 

He had been smarter, as she had instructed, and if she ever understood so, it had been too late. The Dead had closed in and destroyed everything, almost beyond repair. The Dragon Queen had grown mad faster than what he had expected, crueler and more fierce, despite his efforts. And Sansa….Sansa… her name in itself made him push further North, further away from her. Sansa, despite her efforts to make him act smarter, only acted beyond tact and reason herself. Her jealousy clouding her cunning mind, never allowing her to see what he had hoped would have been obvious to her. The Lady of Winterfell provoked the Dragon Queen and put herself in the line of fire, a line Jon prefered to be himself than have Sansa there. 

Everyone was in danger, Sansa before all and Jon wouldn’t allow harm to come her way. Not before or after the truth of his parentage, that very secret passed to her in his effort to dig them out of that hellhole their lives had descended into. He fought not to lose Sansa, and he lost it all. 

He lost himself first, he wasn’t a Brother of the Night’s Watch, he wasn’t a wildling, he wasn’t a Stark -even if he once was to her-, he wasn’t the King in the North or a Snow, the Bastard of Winterfell. He lost the war, King’s Landing, the North, Sansa, his honor, he lost everything. 

Empty, with nothing else, he pushed further and further North, until no hint of human presence lingered, until his horse died from the frost. Until the ravens couldn’t reach him anymore, falling dead from the sky, until the sun plunged in the line of the horizon before it could fully emerge from it. He moved on foot, until Ghost started growling in protest and Jon’s need to move only grew, so he moved North alone after his direwolf left him.

He moved until he reached hills of ice, thinking this could be the end of the world, only stopping when the screech of the Dragon was heard, turning his insides into hot acid. The images of the little burnt children, so many people, the ashes of their houses, their city, their bodies, wounding his mind like that knife had plunged into his heart . Maybe it wasn’t the end of the world, but he certainly hoped it was finally his.

He stumbled upon the final steps of his journey as the beast landed before him. He actually knelt only then, for the first time in his life. Drogon snarled and sniffed, growled and shrieked into the pale sky. Jon didn’t care why or how, he was exhausted, spent, he only hoped the beast would do what he had expected it to do while they stood before each other in the Throne Room with Daenerys’ still warm corpse between them. He had been ready since then, if not before that. 

_“...I’m not going back there alive, do you understand me?”_

_“..I’ll protect you, I promise...”_

_“No one can protect me, no one can protect anyone...”_

_“If I fall, don’t bring me back.’’_

Eyes blurry with tears of relief for the purge that was to come, the atonement, the end of a tainted, _wasted_ second chance to life that lead to so much death. Jon bowed his head before the bellowing creature, hoping to find the same fate with the damned Iron Throne. 

In the white nothingness, behind fire incarnate, blood appeared, a smile justified, waiting. Another Red Woman, younger than Mellisandre, but as ageless, an enchantress of a God he didn’t believe in. A God who brought him back from the dead. The dragon by her side grew silent as she smiled at him before her eyes could fall upon Jon. 

‘Aegon Targaryen… At last.’

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinvara is here and Drogon is riiiight there. I needed this chapter to be a cathartic journey for Jon and who he is to be as we continue this story...this chapter was like a flash back following closely the end of the series instead of chap 1 where we glimpsed at sansa 4 years on, Ghost abandoned Jon as he sensed the Dragon and we'll see more of that dynamic as we move on  
> I needed to explore Jon's actions, just a little, because I can't believe he was that oblivious, castrated being all the time. He will forever be pol!jon gone to I-Lost_control-in-this-mad-world Jon and not that "yar mah quin" thing he became, aaarrghhhh. Jon was not like that  
> some things might be hard to swallow but I hope you will like or agree with my take on their character development, you'll have a better understanding of what i'm talking about as the story continues  
> until then, kudos are love, comments are inspiration for me to continue <3


	3. Sansa II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quick note: thank you SO much for your response to this! amazing response results to inspiration which results to longer chapters!!!!

_Chapter Three - Sansa_

_The Night is Dark, and full of terrors._

_The shadow of a dragon’s silhouette cast upon Winterfell’s walls. Again, a boy in regal, Northern fashion, screaming in terror. Terror so many had lived before him._

_And she was trapped in the capital. The funeral was followed by an uprising, the starved, the miserable, all against the Lords and Ladies. She was thrown on the ground, foreign ground, ground she had no rule or responsibility over. Hands were pulling at her limbs and her clothes, tearing them, forcing her thighs open. Men were above her, ready to take turns raping her._

Sansa’s startled scream had Ghost nuzzling her face with his massive snout. She willed her lungs to take a deep breath, direwolf white fur and copper Tuly hair mingled upon her sweaty skin. Dawn was breaking outside at last. Sansa took a deeper breath, Ghost licked the tears and the sweat away and even if she pushed him slightly, he went on until she chuckled tiredly. If she wanted at least one night free of nightmares she had to leave for the North. 

Bran’s funeral would be followed by the Great Council, the fastest, the better. The Six Kingdoms were in unrest and the Queen in the North away from her dominion. Sansa knew the effort would be futile anyway but she couldn’t wait until it was over for her to finally leave for her own kingdom, more grateful than ever for separating the North from the rest. 

There had been no financial means to rebuild the Sept of Baelor, therefore the first ruler after the Mad Queens who would actually have a funeral was to have the service at the Red Keep, the only building that had been rebuilt almost to its entirety. 

The Throne room would be the place, instead of the ugly chair made of swords forged by dragonfire, there had been a void on the dias for Bran’s wheelchair. Now his body was on an altar, the seven pointed star on the high window had been replaced by an eye made of colorful glass. The banners around the room held the Raven, just like they decorated the Kingsguard’s armors and the fabric covering the withered king. 

Sansa moved within the chamber, like she had done a lifetime ago, along her septa. She knew exactly on which tile she had knelt after being beaten by Joffrey’s watchdogs. She remembered on which spot she had bowed to kiss Joffrey’s sword. She remembered that little bird that had been humiliated over and over again in that very chamber. 

Now she walked in the chamber, dressed in black, hair pinned unnecessarily tight on her head. The incense lit was suffocating, just like the looks from the lords around her as she walked through the massive chamber. The Small council was on the front already. Not a Northern fire, that would have to happen in the North. Not set out in the open, no prayers to the Old Gods and no Godswood to behold them, just that old stump out there. Sansa forced herself to keep breathing. She stood before the covered body on the altar. A strange banner, a stranger beneath it. No parents, no more siblings, no one was there. 

The newly established priesthood started the prayer to the Seven, for a man that used to be a Northman and then became no man at all, before banners of no House of humans. Sansa wondered if people still believed in Gods, weren’t they done with all that? Had they learnt nothing while asking for their mercy. Even Cersei Lannister had acknowledged them through their cruelty and lack of it. 

Yet, Sansa felt cold, unable to cry a tear more. Her spine remained rigidly upright, her face solemn but her mind racing as her eyes remained on the floor before her. Somewhere close by the Dragon Queen’s body must have fallen. Instead of the altar, a throne should be before her, with its rightful heir upon it, and as her Septa had promised, herself by his side. The thought made her look upwards, eyes stinging suddenly, so suddenly she had to force air into her lungs, keep the shiver away. 

_Someone Better._

Who would blame a sister for mourning her baby brother? 

Who would blame a conspirator for betraying the man she once loved?

The tears fell freely from Sansa’s blue eyes. 

  
  
  
  


The day was passing in a haze, Sansa felt no hunger, no need to lay down, not in that bloody place, no, sleep would have to wait until she was on her way home. The only thing annoying her she found, was the blinding sun as she walked through the dragonpit. The air was dry, blowing dust everywhere. She wasn’t sure why Tyrion would hold another Council outside but she preferred instead of the suffocating, high walls of the Red Keep. The dead should rest there, while the living took over outside. 

‘My Lady,’ Lord Royce was by her side -per her request- escorting her to the platform for the High Lords and Ladies of Westeros, Ghost was trotting before her, leading the way. 

‘I hope this… assembly will end soon so we can return North.’ Sansa expressed quietly and Lord Royce growled his agreement. He had proved himself a valuable and loyal friend and ally, consulting both her and her cousin Sweet Robin -who was already on his chair on the platform-, strengthening the North with the Vale’s bounds more than even when they both belonged in the same Crown. 

On her other side, Brienne moved alongside her, guarding the final Stark as she had once promised. Both women were happy they were to leave the soonest after the Council was over. 

A council changed by the ones who cared to withstand it. Unlike before, not everyone had the right to a vote anymore, Sansa had been informed and bitterly scoffed for it. Sam, Brienne and Davos didn’t this time as they had been part of the old King’s small council but held no significant land. Tyrion however would cast his vote this time, as Lord of the Westerlands, lands that as the raven of that morning had revealed, had been attacked by Yara Greyjoy, hence her own absence from the council itself, showing her intentions for rebellion against the kingless crown. 

Sansa wished she didn’t care for the newest cradle of war within the Six Kingdoms but the Westerlands were close to the Rieverlands, another land Sansa tried hard to keep good relations with through her uncle Edmure Tuly, and across the North itself. The memory of Arya threatening Greyjoy to kill her in that very dragonpit, four years ago, sprang in Sansa’s memory, suddenly wishing Arya had acted upon her threat. Or upon her promise to be there for Sansa as an executioner, as a sister, as a companion and heiress the moment Sansa declared herself Queen in the North. At least on one account, she had made up for it. 

As Sansa reached the podium, her uncle Edmure -although frowned and worried over that day’s raven- gave a small bow to his niece, answered by her acknowledgment. Manfrey Martell was there, already disinterested, his rule over Dorne was probably as strong as Sansa’s in the North, he simply didn’t care due to his kingdom’s position on the map. Bronn was also there with a vote, representing the Reach, looking at Tyrion’s frowned face, his lands were under war while Bran was still warm in his casket. 

Gendry Baratheon was seated, his eyes followed Sansa until their gazes met, he approached her, bowing before her. 

‘Your Grace,’ he greeted gently. Sansa wondered if their conflict would continue and this was simply a small game of courtesy due to her mourning. 

‘Lord Baratheon,’ Sansa greeted back, Lord Royce was glaring at the young man. Sansa wondered if he had any better luck than the one she knew he held. So unlike the prince of Dorne, the Stormlands had struggled to accept one of the many Baratheon bastards after the demise of Stannis and his daughter. Robert hadn’t been loved in Storm’s End, thanks to Stannis' stance over the years, but they had remained loyal enough. Gendry was the only choice, even though a bastard one, to keep loyalty in the Baratheon line. And even if Sansa had her disputes with the young man before her, she had to admit, he had kept the hard to yield realm only because he had been just and merciful over his people. 

There were seats only for the ones who would cast their votes, along one for Sansa, who was there to witness the new ruler’s ascend but held no right to vote herself. While Brienne and Lord Royce stood behind her, Robin and her uncle Edmure beside her, Sam and Ser Davos stood behind Gendry, Manfrey and Tyrion, Bronn close to Sansa’s second husband while the empty chair of Yara’s screamed volumes over the responsibility the new ruler would have to take upon himself as there was another civil war within the kingdoms, sparked by a rebellion that was never suppressed properly. 

For a split second of complete silence, Sansa realised it wasn’t just the futility of the Council, it was the dead silence of their surroundings that twisted her stomach. No birds chirping, no insects, nothing, only Ghost’s momentary huff. 

The commotion of voices after that moment, snapped Sansa out of her unease, only to throw her in another as she watched around her, men were fighting already with Edmure Tuly and Tyrion Lannister standing and screaming at each other over Bran’s incapability to deal with Yara on time. Bronn was still joining, Davos barking his own piece of mind, countered by Gendry who blamed the former small council and the masters of Ships and Coin of providing less for the Island territories of the kingdoms, choosing the Iron islands instead of the Storm islands because Yara had been more hostile and blackmailed them until she had enough ships to attack the Westerlands with ships made by the Crown itself. Sansa closed her eyes as she heard the prince of Dorne joining in the fight. Lord Royce did the same in Robin’s shoes who stood but remained silent because he simply didn’t have the political capability to fight with the rest. 

Sansa’s eyes opened and travelled to Brienne who remained silent, looking back at the Queen, the female knight neared the Queen as the two women waited for the men to realise how pointless this Council was, or its very notion from the beginning. All of it because last time, they decided to elect a barren king to take over the mess two mad Queens with Bastard and Dragon children left behind. Sansa wondered if by the end of it, more kingdoms would be breaking away from the crown, if no one was strong and brave enough to take over, with the rest wise enough to let him. Sansa would soon have Six Kingdoms at civil war on her doorstep, with Six different Kings to deal with, she wasn’t sure how she would fortify the Neck to stop refuges and immigrants of war crossing by to find food in her almost bare storages. She wasn’t sure if she’d be able to keep political marriage out of her own banes with her baby brother gone and more than one king persuading an alliance with the North through her bed.

She felt the first thud as she was the only one remaining on her seat just after Ghost’s low growl. Her gaze torn from the men before her, she looked around her, her direwolf bared its teeth, looking up. The second thud was mostly heard than felt as she bolted from her seat, no one noticed her -she didn’t have a right to vote after all- only Brienne noticed, who was looking around her too, a second too late before the two women could follow the direwolf’s gaze upwards, their stomachs dropping to their feet. 

The third thus was unmistakable, and closer, _stronger_. Sansa gulped as she felt the blood in her veins quickening, she could hear her pulse within her skull as she gritted her teeth. She knew those thuds, she had felt them in Winterfell, in her dreams, when the shadows were cast upon her home. 

The screech of the dragon had Sansa’s blood freezing in her veins, her hands started shaking, she clasped them together, trying to stop the tremor. She hadn’t shaken before the dragons, not when they had been commanded by their Mother. 

Now it was different, she knew it. 

The men around her finally stopped the fight, looking around them in shock and terror before the second screech could make them scream and withdraw their swords. Ghost growled and howled as he climbed the podium to shield Sansa, baring his teeth, ready to advance.

And suddenly, it was there, the massive silhouette landing -clad in metal armor on the base of its neck-, roaring and screeching furiously towards the men who stumbled to save themselves in the non existent safety of their wooden podium. If Drogon breathed fire upon them, they would be set alit with or without the wooden kindling beneath their feet. The dragon had landed on the side of the Dragonpit, on all fours and stretching its long neck towards the podium. Sansa felt her stomach dropping as the movement allowed her to see the rider on the back of the beast. 

Pale skin, hair wild and black, a familiar frown upon the face, black armor against blood red clothes.

Jon Snow, Aegon Targaryen, the rightful heir to a throne that very dragon had destroyed, the king of the kingdoms she and Bran had split in two, his kingdoms. 

Sansa didn’t care about the sigil etched upon his armor’s breastplate that she couldn’t see clearly from the distance, she didn’t care about burning for her betrayals. She wrapped her hand around Brienne’s arm, turning her around, wild blue eyes meeting shocked ones as Sansa had to save the only thing that mattered to her. 

‘Leave, leave for the North, go to Rickard, protect him no matter what!’ She didn’t have to insist, reality was kicking into Brienne’s mind, Sansa could see it in her shield’s eyes. She nodded only once, not daring second thinking the Queen’s command. The Heir over the current Ruler, always the future, Rickard Stark had to be saved even if the Queen of the North didn’t make it. 

Brienne started running towards the exit of the pit as everyone stumbled around with Drogon nearing. If the dragon noticed one mouse leaving the trap, he didn’t care or had commands not to act upon it. He roared and breathed fire in the air, a clear warning for the Kingsguard not to attack. Scorpions had been built, Sansa wasn’t sure why watchmen hadn’t detected the beast approaching. She didn’t currently care as the beast neared more on all fours, its sharp eyes fell upon her, surely recognizing her among the party of dark haired men. Ghost barked, aggravated but not moving an inch away from Sansa, almost hiding her from the threat. 

The beast finally stilled enough for its rider to move off his back. Sansa held her breath as Jon dismounted and approached, standing silent and proud before the Dragon who raised its ugly head, towering Jon and watching everyone, now certainly nobody was able to fee the pit. Sansa only then noticed there was a matching sigil on the armor of the beast and man, a dragonhead upon a flame. She could feel his eyes upon her the moment he spotted her like his dragon had. Ghost growled again, barking and sniffing, keeping Sansa behind him. 

‘Behold Aegon Targaryen Sixth of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.’ the female voice had Sansa turning her head across the direction from where Jon -or Aegon- stood. Another Red Woman, walking proudly -lit torch at hand- towards the gathered Lords of Westeros and the Queen in the North. Fire and Blood trapping the people in the middle of the pit. ‘Bend the knee to the Prince that was Promised and accept your rightful ruler or face the punishment of the Lord of Light.’ the Red Woman declared as she bowed first, triumph etched over her alabaster face. 

Ghost howled furiously, almost in answer. 

Sansa wasn’t surprised the men around her mimicked the priestess immediately, still in muted shock and fear as Drogon screeched furiously, invisibly pushing their spines lower as they yielded on their knees, heads bowed. 

Yet, Sansa felt her spine unable to bend, in a mixture between defiance and crave for forgiveness before punishment, she remained standing. Jon’s eyes were upon her, even when the men around her had been standing, but now, with no barrier between them but the direwolf that used to be his and became hers, the two held each other’s gazes for an endless moment. 

Dark grey, bright blue, dragon and wolf, broken promises and vows, lost trust and jealousy, hypocrisy, lies, unspoken truths and spoken secrets, acceptance, family, care, honour, love. 

A thousand moments and no closure. 

The world stood still and silent as Aegon Targaryen and Sansa Stark remained standing in the dragonpit with the continent bent between them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well well well, and so we begin!!!  
> Don't kill me over Rickard Stark!!  
> about the armor for Drogon... you're welcome, that easy, lol  
> Yara, dear, please fall on the deck of the ship and break your neck (sorry, never liked her)  
> for Bran's funeral I wanted something quick as not many people would be sentimental enough to love and like a foreigner sent by the North, having done nothing to suddenly being on the throne as their king  
> but who cares about Bran right now, Jon and Sansa are about to face each other!!! After so long! in the Dragonpit, where they should have met during the previous Great Council!  
> Kudos are love, comments are inspiration and I can't wait for your thoughts and ideas on it!!!! thank you for reading!!


	4. Jon II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the response has simply left me speechless, and nervous for what I have in store for all of us lol, this chapter was slightly different in my head but Jon wrote himself on his own!  
> thank you so much for the kudos, comments, pms, emails and tumblr asks! this chapter is longer as a treat for all of your for your love!

_Chapter Four - Jon_

_‘All I’ve ever wanted… the right Ruler on the Iron Throne…’_

_“Did you bend the knee because of the North, or because you love her?”_  
_“Do you have any faith in me at all?”_ _  
_ “You know I do.”

Their words were etched on his memory, hands clenched into fists, his beast breathing heavily behind him as her own beast bared his teeth at him. He wasn’t surprised, Ghost would choose the Stark blood. Jon was never a Stark, not fully at least. Making the first step towards the gathered rulers of Westeros, his eyes never left hers. 

The sunlight was harsh on their Northern pale skin, Tuly looks for a Stark, Stark features for a Targaryen. So different, so familiar, strangers and each other’s reason to be; once stood before one another with tension that could make a heart burst. Yet they survived, their fates and each other, only to stand once again in the dragonpit the decisions were made in, for everyone this time, they would make these decisions and their hearts would be challenged to survive once again.

He wasn’t surprised she hadn’t bent at Kinvara’s declaration and command. She never did, she was known for it. He was furiously proud, before beasts of legend, before death and monsters, she stood, sometimes foolishly, sometimes wiser than anyone else. Arya had been right, she was the smartest person and he wanted her to be there with her mind and heart for what he was up to. A task like no other for him, he had yielded the Dragon Queen, he had manipulated men older and wiser than him, he had saved his skin again and again. All to stand before her in that same dragonpit he once had stood, before different Queens, both gone now for the true ruler to ascend. 

Ghost shifted before Sansa, his teeth a clear warning. Jon nodded to himself, finally tearing his eyes away from Sansa who had remained silent. Her face betrayed nothing for the ones who didn’t know her well, yet he could see, the unease, the shock, the pain. He looked at his once direwolf, for a moment wondering if indeed Ghost would maule him to protect Sansa or if the direwolf was aggressive because of the dragon. Jon wouldn’t risk it, it had been so long, Ghost and Sansa were one, at least one Stark got to keep a direwolf from the pack. He had come in terms with his own nature, hence the dragon behind him. 

‘Balerion, iōragon ilagon,’ the Valyrian coming out of his mouth had Sansa finally frown for the fraction of a second. He ached at how strange he must seem in her eyes. His dragon stopped huffing and growling at the command, calming but remaining vigilant, Jon was sure as Kinvara and the rest remained bent. 

He looked at the team of kneelers, had he been like them, once? No, he had never actually bent the knee, he had never given up his kingdom over a woman with silver hair and violet eyes, no. Another woman, the one standing before him, yes, he had played with fire for her until he was consumed in it, and after a point she had only fed that fire, knowingly. It was about time everyone would know of this. But for now, he had to arbitrate upon the rulers of his kingdoms. 

‘In the previous Great Council, although some of you knew of my true parentage, my right upon the Seven Kingdoms, you decided to treat me as an assassin and not the man who put an end to the tyranny of Daenerys Targaryen.’ His voice was gruff, thick with anger that flared inside him at the image before him, some trembled in their breeches, some remained completely still. Tyrion dared look up at him. Jon would start with him, although he could see with the corner of his eye, Sansa rooted on her own spot. She would be last. 

‘Tyrion Lannister, you conspired with Lord Varys to kill the Queen you brought from Essos and advised until the end.’ Jon started, he could hear Kinvara rising to her feet, reachin him. ‘Among your countless crimes and betrayals, you’ve killed your father, conspired against Kings and Queens times and times again and although you knew of my right to rule the Seven Kingdoms you placated the previous Council into electing a new King. As his Hand, you agreed and passed the centence of my exile into the place of my first death, do you deny the charges?’ Jon asked without having left anyone to utter a word up to that point. He glanced at Sansa as she made half a step towards the rest, only to be stopped by Ghost who remained on alert. 

‘My… King,’ Tyrion tried, his words broken, stammered. ‘As Hand of Bran the Broken, I only had the restoration of the Kingdoms at heart, as I had told you that day we last saw each other.’ Tyrion tried and Jon knew although it would wound her, the truth had to be spoken.

‘I had asked you if that had been the right thing… You had told me to ask you in ten years… But the Kingdoms are at a dire point under your council of the King, or was it the King himself the problem? The King you persuaded everyone to choose? Is this why you slowly poisoned your King until his death?’ Jon asked and this time he heard Sansa’s gasp, her eyes wild and furious, finally looking away from himself and falling upon Tyrion’s figure. His own eyes were wide, truly fearful as he looked between Jon and Kinvara, never daring to look at Sansa or the men around him, some of them had dared to raise their own eyes at him, shock and anger on their faces. 

‘How…’ Tyrion uttered the word. Kinvara’s smug smirk annoyed Jon to no end but she had her uses, he knew from the beginning. 

‘The Lord of Light never lies, truth and fire are his weapons…’ Kinvara replied to Tyrion's question. 

‘Do you deny the charges, my Lord?’ Jon asked again, they had agreed with the priestess, this would be a journey they would have to compromise with each other along it. Tyrion remained silent for the first time in his life. ‘Lannisters always pay their debts and you decided to do so towards the Kingdoms, no matter what…’ Jon added and Tyrion finally lowered his head. 

‘It was for the peace across the Kingdoms, Bran was....’ Tyrion finally admitted, Sansa’s hand was clutching at Ghost’s fur for support. Jon could feel her pain, one more betrayal, she once had thought Tyrion kind to her, their stupid hearts never seemed to learn their lessons. 

‘Tyrion Lannister, you are accused of treason and the murder of King Bran the Broken. You conspired against Daenerys Targaryen, Cersei Lannister, Joffrey Baratheon along with patricide and treasonous acts against the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. Therefore, you are sentenced to death for your crimes and the sentence will be passed the soonest.’ Jon was swift, wishing to spare her the pain, he could see the sun gathered and glistening on unshed tears in her eyes. The sight taking his breath away, he hated her distress, her pain, he wished he could take it all away although more would be inflicted upon her, he knew. 

‘Bronn Blackwater, you are to be judged over the administration of the treasury and the funds given across the Six Kingdoms. Your status as Lord of Highgarden and Lord Paramount of the Reach are stripped from you for the good of the areas and the balance needed in the region. If found guilty of deceptive spendings of the kingdoms’ coin, you will be charged accordingly. Your crimes as mercenary for House Lannister will also be reviewed and decided upon.’ Jon’s words were met with satisfaction by a couple of faces around him while he would swear Bronn muttered something along the lines of being executed quickly. Jon could see the discord among the Lords, no surprise there. 

‘Lord Davos, you will remain in my council in good memory and faith of our old friendship.’ Jon was fast with that, he knew the man was honourable, a rare trait Jon valued although forsook himself. ‘The Kingdom of Dorne is valuable to the Crown.’ Jon went on, this time looking at the man representing the kingdom that would break faith with a Targaryen King the easiest. ‘I swear to restore the relationship my father destroyed with your House by anuling his marriage to Elia Martell by naming you Hand of the King. Viper and Dragon should remain on the head of state.’ he added and he could see Manfrey’s apprehension of the move, his House’s chance to ascend in power once again. ‘The Vale and the Riverlands will remain on their status, loyal to the Crown.’ He could see the satisfaction on the faces of Sansa’s relatives, he caught a glimpse of her own relief, his heart kicked at the fear he was inflicting on her. 

‘Yara Greyjoy has been dealt with for her rebellion against the Crown and the invasion in the Westerlands, attempting bloodshed in these trying times.’ Jon’s words had people shift in their clothes, knowing very well what he meant as his dragon growled. ‘Ravens will soon arrive, bearing news of the Iron Islands’ yield to the Crown.’ Jon added, showing everyone he would be where he had to, ensuring peace and justice passed. Yara had been a thorne on everyone’s side even before Daenerys and he had finally ripped it out of the kingdoms’ flesh. 

‘Gendry Baratheon,’ Jon looked at the man who was still on his knee, yet Jon caught Sansa’s new step towards them. A pang of anger at the new wave of fear in her eyes over the young man, unreasonable as far as he knew for a man who never had much contact with Sansa even if he had been close to Arya. ‘Legitimized by Daenerys Targaryen and ascended as Lord of the Stormlands.’ Jon added, only to buy time for himself and see Sansa’s reaction, his maneuver did the trick. 

‘He’s been only fair towards his people,’ her words, after so long felt like cold, Northern breeze on his bones, refreshing, shivering against the scorching sunlight. 

She was afraid, not speaking up for her first husband -maybe because she had nothing to say for the murderer of her baby brother- but she had spoken in favor of the young man. Maybe after Arya left, he was into Stark women after all. Fury flared so fast within his flesh, it let him breathless, no man would be close to her. No good man or monster, no one but him, not after what he had jeopardised for her. 

‘If so, you will remain loyal to the House that restored you, House Targaryen.’ Jon’s words were hursh, angry, yet Gendry nodded his head obediently, Jon wished he did otherwise, so he could take him out of the way, furiously jealous, yes, he knew taste of the feeling, had felt it every time he saw Baelish crawling around her. Moments before each other and Sansa was affecting him violently, making him lose composure after years away from her, atoning for his own crimes, getting ready for more. 

He finally turned towards her. 

‘Sansa Stark,’ the name played on his tongue, bittersweet. The atmosphere blazed between them, that old current, breaths filling their lungs painfully, eyes screaming what the lips never dared to speak, sinful and true, angry, damaging, scarred. 

What sentence to pass for breaking personal vows, for standing against monsters? What sentence to pass for breaking his kingdoms apart? What sentence to pass for betraying her King when he had already given up his crown? For having faith in him so furiously she had to betray him to save him. 

‘You broke faith with me as King in the North and conspired against Daenerys Targaryen.’ He kept out the fact that her reveal of his parentage gave the final blow to the Mother of Dragons. A blow he and he alone had bared witness before the Dragon Queen as she had quivered and threatened to destroy Sansa and himself because of that very truth. He had defied Daenerys for that truth, just like Sansa had defied himself over it, a poison passed between the three that had killed one and infected the other two. ‘Divided the Kingdoms in the previous Great Council, separating the North from the Seven Kingdoms with the allowance of King Bran and his Hand, Tyrion Lannister. But...’ Jon trailed off for a moment, he could see her back straightening once more, he noticed Gendry Baratheon looking at her with fear in his eyes. Jon’s anger ate at him -Kinvara had mentioned nothing, he had never asked, not able to bear the possibility- he struggled to keep his voice even.

_‘‘Why are you laughing?’’ she had demanded of him._

_‘’What did father used to say? Everything before the word “but” is horseshit…’’ he had reminded her._

‘But you did all that in the presence of a Council that left you no other choice for the people of the North, under a barren, crippled King set in the South… a King the Northerners would never accept. Your actions will be looked upon with mercy, taking into account the love you hold for your people.’ Jon added, her face didn’t change, he had to tread carefully with her, or war would break in her name. ‘However, I am the King of the Seven Kingdoms and for that very reason you are to remain here, with me, to represent the North you so much love.’ His words caused her eyes to narrow with anger, another trap for her, this time set by him; in the place she loathed. The place she had sworn never to go back to, yet she had; to save him, and she had succeeded, only for her victory to come back and bite her now.

He hated what he was doing but this would be the only way, for her protection, for the kingdoms, for himself. ‘If you wish the North to remain as it is...yours, with no blood spilt for anyone beyond or below the Neck.’ Jon’s words had her reacting, this time not to defend another or herself, but to defy him. ‘This is my decision and my decision is final.’ he cut in; echoing his own words after she had questioned him in the council following the Battle of the Bastards. She was moving, past Ghost who struggled to keep her back and only made it to stand between them, a barrier of furs and teeth, the direwolf desperate to keep her away from the dragon. She neared him enough for him to see every detail of hers, tall, proud, scarred forearms leading to shaking hands with fury as the sleeves of her southern black dress waved around her.

‘What have you become?’ she demanded furiously, trapped in her own game, he had never proved to her he could play the game as well as she. Now, it was time to show her what he had planned back then and what he had planned now. She had been trained by Cersei Lannister and Littlefinger, but he had survived similar monsters, a crow always lied, a man who survived, tricked even death. 

‘What you all made me,’ he answered curtly, sparing her the sole blame. ‘I’m here to take what you plotted to give me…’ he replied this time addressing her and her alone, ready to face her wrath, seeing the flicker of fear in her eyes, along with the momentary pride. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo Tyrion is sentenced to death ( he deserved it, didn't he) he poisoned Bran!! We will know more about it soon!  
> as for the rest, the council was in disarray and Jon just established most of the people's loyalty, fear of the dragon will be put where Jon's political influence can't reach...  
> I know Davos' idea as Hand is nice for many people but here Jon needs to be political and Manfrey Martell representing Dorne with its history and all needed to be tied to the kingdom once again.  
> We'll see more of Jon and Kinvara's relationship and how these two deal with each other.  
> I know many people wouldn't agree with Jon keeping Sansa in King's Landing but you need to remember, this is a story where Jon and Sansa are no saints and have to deal and work through their own doings, for each other and themselves.  
> Next chapter: Sansa's POV!  
> Kudos are love, comments are inspiration and through your amazing response I was able to write more of this within a week so you know what to do!!!! thank you so much for the amazing comments, I can't wait to hear of your thoughts and ideas on it all!!!!


	5. Sansa III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> your responses through emails, pms, comments and kudos are humbling and forcing the characters to scream what they want to do in each chapter so loud I have to stay up until 6am to make the chapters so they can calm down and let me sleep. thank you SO much!

_Chapter Five - Sansa_

_Death is so final, yet Life is full of possibilities._

Sansa’s body moved on its own accord while her mind and heart still raced within her. Bolting from the spot she had been rooted while Jon spoke, passing by her direwolf and raising her arm, her rings glistening in the sunlight. She had stricken another unreasonable cousin of hers, in the past, fury initiating her action in both cases. Her senses came back to her as Jon’s own arm darted, his hand gripping her forearm midair before she could hit him. 

She huffed every breath, refusing to acknowledge the fire that engulfed her bare skin where he held her, not hard enough to bruise but tight enough to halt her. Ghost was struggling around them growling, his teeth bared and close to their bodies who had come close, chests heaving almost against each other. His dragon too was getting restless, but remained on his spot as commanded. Sansa didn’t glance around her, damn the kneelers and the bloody woman. Her eyes were locked with Jon’s. His expression incomprehensible for moments that could have stretched into aeons between them. 

Jon reached for her gripped arm with his other hand, slipping both his palms down her skin until he was locking her hand in a cruddle, kept between them. She refused to acknowledge the goosebumps raised on her skin, the kick her heart gave against her ribcage as his rough skin felt gentle against her own, warm, keeping without applying pressure. 

‘You need to be smarter...’ her once spoken advice to him sounded like a warning from his lips now back at her; although his gruff voice was gentle, Jon’s breath brushing against her cheek, too intimate for her skin not to crawl, infuriating her more. 

Jon raised his hands with her own between them, close to his lips but Sansa yanked her hand free, challenging him silently to do something for her refusal. She once had felt elevation at the touch of his lips on her forehead, forgiving her betrayal back then, accepting her apology. She would die on her spot if she felt his lips on her hand now, after declaring her fate. He could become physical in another way and that kind of abuse she could handle, could survive it, but gentleness from him? No, she couldn't stand it although once, she craved nothing else. No matter the clothes he wore and the sigils he carried, the name he claimed and the legacy he took upon, she knew he would never hurt her, not physically at least. Because in other ways, he had bent and twisted her, leaving the ghost of what she had felt once for him; beyond recognition. 

Ghost was still growling, Jon glanced at the beast, his massive form almost engulfing Sansa protectively from behind. She glanced at the Red Woman, the smug smile had been replaced with a wild expression, outrage, _good_ , at least she felt something while Jon’s expression betrayed nothing. 

Her body once again moved on its own, abandoning the dragonpit, no one daring to stop her or the direwolf who was moving with her. Something was being spoken behind her. The Priestess was saying something but Jon’s voice was heard again, curt, unyielding. No one followed her and for that; Sansa was grateful. Every move of hers could mean war, and although she wanted to raise all Seven Hells, she had to think of her people, of Rickard, of everyone, as always. The gathered tears were escaping her face, the sobs ripping through her lips. 

After years of thinking he was dead, of accepting the worst, Jon was back, only to unveil more betrayals, to gnaw at every tender and infected wound between them, to keep her where she hated the most as to keep what she had taken from him. A fair exchange, she thought bitterly. Reaching her bedchambers in a haze, her Northern guards opened the door for her and Ghost as the castle and the city and the continent was buzzing with the news of his return. The moment she was inside her room, she rested against the closed door, breathing heavily as more tears ran down her face, looking desperately at the ceiling and around her, gasping to breathe as she kept Ghost at arm’s length, the poor beast trying to console her. 

She wasn’t sure for how long she stayed there, or when she sunk on the floor, her black dress pulling around her like ink on the red marble. Ghost had curled down around her, finally accepting she needed the space to breathe and compose herself without physical contact of any kind. Her hand still tingled where he had touched her, she rubbed at her skin with her other hand, trying to make her skin her own again. She hated the ghosts of her past coming back to haunt her. No man was to touch her again, especially not him, she had survived monsters who had eaten at her skin with weapons and tools of torture, but Jon… Aegon, he had eaten at her very soul. 

Giving her everything and then snatching it away, giving it to another, taking even more with him, knowingly at the start? Probably not, but she knew he had noticed after a point, she had made it crystal clear for all -for him- to see, even the Dragon Queen had known. Yet, he had taken it all, her faith and patience, her sanity… her heart. After all he had done, after killing the monster he had brought to their home, he had passively accepted his exile while she had kicked and screamed against it. He had taken to the land of Always Winter all of her to die in the frost, leaving the vessel of her body behind to be crowned Queen, never sparing her his forgiveness in exchange. 

She screamed in outrage, howled like the Red Wolf she was. 

The sun had set when she found the strength to finally stand to her feet, spent, calm again, emotions forced back in that little black box that thudded in her chest, her mind set on his words. 

Oh she would follow his warning, another thing stolen from her, her own words, yes, she would follow her advice. 

She would be smarter. 

  
  
  
  
  


Sansa walked through the corridors of the Red Keep, dressed in black, hair on a low, side ponytail. The trial would take place at noon and she needed to speak to Tyrion before it, for afterwards, she knew there would be no chance. 

Activity around the castle felt almost normal, as if the last Targaryen King astride a dragon hadn’t landed from the sky and took over the Kingdoms. Sansa sighed at the non-existent need for people to do _something_ , at least show surprise instead of obedience. She had been taught, simple people didn’t care of who sat on the throne, they had their survival to look after. Her people yes, they would soon care, when they would know she’s been kept in the Capital of the South. But until then, Jon had shown his political influence, had kept Dorne and most of the Kingdoms not just intact but also united under his new rule. 

She felt her lungs contracting at the idea of saying goodbye to her uncle and cousin, Lord Royce and the rest. They would all depart for their kingdoms after Tyrion’s trial, all except Manfrey Martell and herself. Instead of following them to the Kingsroad across the Kingdoms, she had to stay behind. She would find a way, Rickard was in the North without her. 

As she moved towards the dungeons, she peered outside from one of the windows. The black scales of the beast glistened like onixes under the sunlight. The dragon resting in the pit, the Red Priestess was approaching the beast. Sansa sighed as she kept walking, another problem she would have to decipher and overcome. 

Was Jon believing in that God now? Maybe he did, he had been brought back by Melisandre after all. The same woman who had burnt a little girl alive… Sansa was done with all the fates, of her people or otherwise. Good Gods wouldn’t allow children to burn at the stake, or girls being raped and tortured. When she reached the dungeons, the guards opened the door for her. She entered the cell and spotted her first husband on the floor, miserable and silent. 

‘Your sister had been right, Gods have no mercy, that’s why they’re Gods.’ She couldn’t help but remember the words etched on her mind, carved by the first Mad Queen she had encountered in her life. Tyrion chuckled sadly, looking up at her, not sparing her with a smart remark, or a witty comment on the late tyrant. Sansa looked at Tyrion for a moment of contemplation. She knew he had been a murderer, she knew he had been another monster. Yet, she had respected him because he had been kind to his child bride, she had respected him because once, she believed him the smartest person she knew. Later on, she had realised she just hadn’t met too many people when she had that belief of the dwarf. 

‘Why?’ she asked, her voice firm. ‘Why enthrone him just to kill him four years later?’ Sansa struggled not to reach out, slap Tyrion like she had attempted with Jon, punch him maybe, tear at his scarred flesh. The memory of Bran’s withering body in her arms made her shiver. Tyrion sighed, hiding his face in his hands. 

‘Because you were right.’ Tyrion spoke, his own voice hoarse. ‘Because he was a crippled, baren king, odd and silent. Brought from the North, if not further away… to rule over a savaged land…’ Tyrion added and Sansa rubbed her forehead in exasperation. ‘That’s why I killed him…’ Tyrion added and Sansa shook her head. 

‘I don’t understand, then why enthrone him in the first place?’ she whispered, trying hard to keep the tears away. She wasn’t sure what she had expected from Tyrion, all she knew was that she needed answers for the nightmares to go away. 

‘Sansa…’ Tyrion tried this time as he stood up, nearing her, she stood rigid. ‘No one would make it to a peaceful rule after what happened. It was too much damage for the kingdoms… Someone had to be ruler of the ashes. Someone who after his death, wouldn’t cause a civil war to start again.’ Tyrion was calm as he explained. Sansa laughed bitterly, unable to accept another member of her family, another brother, was gone because of Tyrion’s masterplans. 

‘Yara was rebelling already…’ Sansa pointed out as if she had a three year old before her.

‘Exactly, the ashes were gone, the kingdoms were restoring themselves and their tendencies were back… it was time for a new ruler to take over.’ Tyrion answered quickly, making Sansa scoff at his words.

‘And who you were planning to elect? Which one you wanted to play the expendable role this time? Before... Aegon Targaryen could land on our heads?’ His new name slipped from her lips in a spat, still hard to accept he was back, so changed yet so familiar. Her hand tingled again at where he had touched her, she ignored the itch. Tyrion looked up at her pointedly for a long moment, answering her the questions. Sansa’s eyes grew wide, she shook her head again, unable to take the truth in them. 

‘I didn’t even have the right to vote this time!’ she shouted the first thing she thought about at his outraging idea. 

‘And it would have been perfect!’ Tyrion countered. ‘ You’ve proven yourself a fair and just Queen for the North. Half your family are rulers of the lands linking the North with the rest… Bronn and I would pledge to you and Gendry would do the same, we both know that, maybe he would be your best supporter after I presented my plan…All of us would push you to claim the Six Kingdoms. Yara was a problem anyway and Dorne would be following if you were to do what Jon did by making Martell your Hand…Which I’m sure you would, given how smart you’ve proven to be.’ Tyrion’s plan sounded stupidly easy to happen, if Jon hadn’t showed up, if she had been asked about it. If she had wanted such a thing. ‘You would move the capital to Winterfell and people would prosper… you already have your heir and you would be able to live there and little Rickard would be perfect to succeed you and…’ Tyrion trailed off desperately, ‘Damn it, it was a _good_ plan.’ he mostly told himself. Sansa sighed, shaking her head. 

‘I’m glad you liked it, I’m glad once again I was excluded from deciding my fate.’ Sansa commented bitterly. ‘I’m also glad I was excused of such fate, just to be thrown into a worse one. Trully, thank you very much.’ Sansa commented bitterly. Silence fell between the former spouses, until Sansa looked down at Tyrion again. 

‘Had Bran known?’ she asked softly. Tyrion glanced up at her before he could slowly nod his head. 

‘He… he was miserable away from the North and whatever powers he had through the Godswood. He was constantly worried about Drogon, searched for him. He had been only happy when he learnt of Rickard… He saw the Kingdoms’ decline and agreed on my suggestion for you… He accepted a way to go that would not create chaos and would bring you here willingly.’ Sansa huffed at Tyrion’s words, shocked and disgusted in equal measures. 

‘He was searching for the dragon but he couldn’t see he was with Jon all this time?’ Sansa asked the first thing that sprang in her mind through all the information. Tyrion looked up at her with narrowed eyes, realising what she was implying. 

‘I… He rarely spoke…’ Tyrion admitted. ‘Sometimes I wasn’t sure if I was playing his game or he mine… Maybe he knew, maybe not… I don’t know Sansa. His silence and his secrets had me act, for the kingdoms, for all of us.’ Tyrion added and Sansa sighed, looking away. 

_‘I can never be Lord of anything.’_

Her brother’s words echoed in her mind. Reluctantly, she admitted to herself how hard it was to make sense of Bran and his ways. Jon’s parentage had started with Bran and quite possibly; ended with him, allowing Jon to become what he was always meant to be.

‘Sometimes I wonder… if things would have been different, if I had told Daenerys of the secret passage leading to the Red Keep.’ Tyrion wondered out loud, Sansa turned towards him again. Was he admitting things before his final hour? She knew of secret passages through the city, she had escaped through one of them but she hadn’t known of one leading straight to the Keep. 

‘Why didn't you say anything to Jon before the offensive to the city?’ Sansa asked, genuinely curious this time. Tyrion sighed, eyes downcast suddenly, shaking his head. 

‘I told Jamie, planned an escape route for him to take Cersei away before it was too late… They didn’t make it.’ Tyrion responded and this time Sansa laughed, unable to stop herself before Tyrion’s pure sorrow. He had been afraid of the Dragon Queen, yet he had chosen his mad sister instead of thousands of innocents. Sansa didn’t care about the wounded expression on his scarred face. She didn’t care about anything that hurt him. All this information was so outraging she could only laugh at the revelations, unable and emotionally spent to react in any other way. 

‘Each of you have torn at my family and I will never forget. Your schemes, your lessons, your cruelty. Daenerys had been right, you know.’ She had spoken the names with such ease, after so long, Jon, Aegon, Daenerys, the wounds were reopened and bleeding and she could only breathe through the pain. ‘She had chosen you because you were ruthless. Stupid as you’ve proven time and time again, but also ruthless…’ Sansa commented, remembering the Dragon Queen’s words at Winterfell’s library. ‘Gods, so stupid,’ Sansa whispered to herself after a moment, the words setting in, new nightmares would emerge after that day. Another stretch of silence between them. Trapped in King’s Landing, like they had found themselves trapped during the battle for the Dawn in the crypts of Winterfell. Back then, both had survived, now it wasn’t the case. She had been right, facing the truth was the bravest thing they could do. 

‘You’ve confessed your crimes before the Great Council and the Queen in the North and still, he wants to give you a trial.’ Sansa stated the facts. Tyrion nodded his head, all sorrow pushed back as they were back to business. 

‘He wants a spectacle, he wants people to adjust in his rule, in the way things will be handled from now on.’ Tyrion explained, Sansa agreed, not delusioned about some kind of mercy Jon might have wanted to show Tyrion. She had witnessed such spectacles, from the Lannisters, the Boltons, Peter Baelish. She had even participated in one of them while Jon had been King of the North and the Ubers and Karstarks had been pardoned for siding with Ramsay, when she had openly questioned Jon before the entire North. He had taken her ways as undermining back then. Sansa wondered if she was to do the same now that he was King of the Six Kingdoms and she had taken the North from him. 

_‘Stop being a bystander,’_

_‘You need to be smarter,’_

‘I wonder if he will behead, burn or feed me to his dragon.’ Tyrion wondered and Sansa looked at him. For a moment wondering herself. One husband fed to his own dogs, another maybe fed by a dragon, if there was ever to be a third one, her direwolf would do the honors. She kept that thought to herself. ‘Changing the beast’s name to Balerion was a nice touch, don’t you think? Another Aegon and his dragon. Probably Kinvara’s idea.’ Tyrion mused but this time Sansa focused her attention to him, thoughts of husbands eaten alive pushed aside. 

‘You know of the Priestess?’ Sansa asked, some information would be useful. Dead men can’t speak after all and Tyrion was still breathing. He nodded his head, probably similar thoughts running in his head. 

‘She was to spread the word through her priests across Essos for Daenerys. Varys and I had asked her to help. She had accepted, saying Daenerys was the Prince that was Promised…’ Tyrion explained quickly, knowing he was giving valuable information to Sansa. ‘Nice load of bullshit, may I add in retrospect…’ Tyrion’s attempt at humor fell as Sansa waited eagerly to know more. ‘I guess she had a change of heart when she saw Daenerys’ corpse with the dragon and learnt the last Targaryen existed… Just like Melisandre had ditched Stannis for Jon, even resurrected him for it. A man coming back from the dead, a girl walking out of flames with dragons, crazy blood singing with their so-called destiny and look at the rest of us now…’ Tyrion spat bitterly and Sansa couldn’t help but shrug at the words, taking a deep breath. She needed time to register the information, somewhere quite, somewhere safe. There was no such place in King’s Landing. She looked at Tyrion for a moment more, another ghost was to be added in her company at night. She nodded her head, turning and reaching the door. She half-turned around but before she could vocalise her farewell, Tyrion spoke. 

‘I have a theory as to why he wants you here.’ Tyrion’s words had her lowering her hand from knocking for the guards to open the door, she waited. 

‘Because he doesn’t want the North’s uprising…’ Sansa pointed out softly. Tyrion clicked his tongue, nodding his head, not really believing her reason. 

‘I had found myself in a very similar situation, four years ago. Jon was leaving my cell and I was telling him you would never accept Daenerys as Queen… I think it was the catalyst for his decision. The fact that as he had told me himself you had no choice but to obey Dany, yet he had, he had a choice and he acted upon it…’ Tyrion’s eyes had locked with hers, his answer bringing forth more questions. 

‘What are you saying?’ she demanded in a whisper. Jon had driven a knife through the Dragon Queen’s heart because she was a madwoman with beasts under her command, no mo reason was needed. Certainly not because of Sansa herself. This was what had been known for years. Jon was now keeping her in King’s Landing as a political move, nothing more. 

_‘I will protect you, I promise.’_

_‘Do you have any faith in me at all?’_

_‘Who manipulated whom?’_

‘Varys had once suggested a beautiful picture for the future…’ Tyrion added, eyes still in a lock with Sansa’s. ‘He had wanted Jon on the throne, tempered, a man, measured and just. Only problem was Jon didn’t want the throne back then…’Tyrion mused, Sansa remained silent. Her revelation of his parentage had taken root, only it took a while to bloom. ‘Now, he’s back for it. In our conversation of treason with Varys, I had suggested for Jon and Dany to rule together and of course Varys had been right. They wouldn’t make it. But as he had spoken of Jon, he had said… a Targaryen father and a Stark mother…’ Tyrion approached Sansa who remained still again. ‘He was spoken of Jon, he would be perfect. But... life happened and you took the North…’Tyrion added, Sansa was ready to speak but he beat her to it. ‘The Kingdoms with the North could be linked but not reunited if you two-’

‘Enough,’ Sansa almost barked even at the implication of what Jon and she could be. ‘Enough of treason talk and suggestions. You have enough crimes on your back for today’s trial, Tyrion.’ Sansa demanded and the man before her sighed and nodded. 

‘Just keep that in mind, Sansa. Jon is honourable but not stupid and Kinvara is a smart ally by his side…’ Tyrion warned pointedly. She had faced worse, she would find a way around this new challenge. They remained silent for the third time. 

‘What happened to Shae?’ she asked suddenly, the ghost of one of her protectors in King’s Landing rising from the ashes of her memory. Tyrion’s darkened face were the answer Sansa dreaded the most. ‘Thank you for all your many lessons, Lord Tyrion.’ she finally bid her farewell, just like she had done with Baelish, both men executed by relatives of hers. 

She knocked at the door that opened quickly for her to move out of the cell before Tyrion could utter another word. She was done with people messing with her heart and head. She was alone in King’s Landing, again. And soon, she would witness what had happened to people who conspired under Aegon Targaryen’s rule.

If she wanted to see the North and Rickard again, she had to be smarter indeed. 

  
  
  


The time for the trial had arrived. It would take place at the dragonpit, where people had gathered. Her own father had been executed at the steps of the Sept of Baelor. Since there was no sept thanks to Cersei Lannister, another public place had to be arranged for executions. Miserable affairs, Sansa sighed as she walked with Davos and Sam by her sides, almost choosing her instead of their actual King to escort. Ghost with her at every step, to people’s delight as a direwolf in the Capital, along a dragon was a sight to behold. 

The current Small Council took their seats while people howled and cheered. So fast attuned with their new King who was giving them a spectacle to mark his new rule. The dragon was in the pit and although that same beast had leveled the place a few years back, the starved and miserable of the city defied their own fear before seeing a rich and powerful Lord’s downfall. Sansa sighed, King’s Landing would never change. 

Jon -Aegon Targaryen as he had been announced by Kinvara- had entered the dragonpit, dressed in black, half his hair back in a bun, Longclaw at his side, he looked at Sansa the moment he reached the podium the Small Council waited. He was welcomed by cheers and screams of acceptance by the people around them. His first test. The years had passed and in the people’s memory, he was known as the man who united the armies, saved everyone from the Dead and killed the Dragon Queen, followed by the rumours of being a man resurrected, simple people needed much less to like their kings, always in hope of a better treatment. 

Sansa wondered if Kinvara and her Lord played a role in that too. Had she been secretly spreading the word of Aegon’s return across Westeros? All powerful and promised, instead of the crippled boy on the wheelchair of a throne. Undetected by the Crown’s spies, maybe her own spies too in the North. She had to be smarter.

The trial started and although Sansa felt his eyes upon her on several occasions of crimes revealed that had to do with her or the Starks, she kept her eyes on the spot of the ground before Tyrion, never sparing him a glance. Her mind still needed time to accept the information shared with her. 

As the trial went on, the crimes only mounted against Tyrion, the worst part was that they were all based on proof. Tyrion remained calmed, once or twice glancing at the Small Council. Manfrey Martell was taking care of it all while Jon remained silent on the central chair set for him with Kinvara by his side while the dragon waited patiently. Sansa oddly remembered Littlefinger's trial, where Sansa had passed the sentence and Arya had been the executioner with her dagger . Jon waited to do so, Sansa wondered for a moment if it would be his sword or his beast. 

_‘What do dragons eat, anyway?’_

A lump forming in her throat at the idea of Jon beheading or feeding the man before her. The memory of the smell from burnt flesh turned her insides. She fought back the bile. Tyrion had been good to her, he had been awful to so many. He had dragged her away from the dead in the crypt, he was partially or fully responsible for so many deaths around her. She bowed her head, unable to hold back the tears, knowing she was being watched, feeling Jon’s eyes on her. 

Guilty, the word was spoken by the Small Council, by Jon himself when all was said and done. Tyrion was the last one to plead as such. Sansa felt her hands trembling as he was moved to the podium. The execution was immediate and public, the people around were cheering, just like they had cheered for her father’s execution while Joffrey had smugly smirked at everyone. Jon was solemn as he reached Tyrion. Sansa wished she could cover her ears, she set her eyes on her lap, unable to watch, the sound of the blade against flesh, the jaws of a dragon eating, the word Dracarys. 

Gods, she wished the pit would open up and swallow her. She couldn’t faint like she had after her father’s head had rolled down the steps of the Sept. Would Tyrion’s head rott on a spike as well? Would Jon leave the burnt carcass on the podium for the people to admire? She was trembling violently,Ghost growled and whined close to her. 

The sound from the swing of the sword had her eyes screwed shut, no thud of the head or the body on the floor followed however, instead; the dragon’s growl, its jaws snapping and chewing. People cheering, Kinvara’s hollow words of justice from the Lord of Light shining. The bile rose in Sansa’s throat as she darted from her seat, rushing away from the dragonpit for the second time in less than three days. 

Ghost was behind her, rushing with her as she moved fast within the dark corridor, the sunlight lessening behind her as she moved deeper in the torch-lit tunnel that led back to the main Keep. She screamed as her arm was gripped by another hand from behind, different touch than Jon’s, firmer. Ghost hadn’t killed whoever was touching her, someone known, not a real threat. She turned around in her haze.

Gendry, his eyes as wild as hers, as shaken by the spectacle in the dragonpit. 

‘We need to talk before it’s too late.’ Gendry’s tone was begging, her mind was racing, she shook her head, unable to face the man before her as well. Fighting to breathe through her nose, if she opened her mouth she would vomit. ‘About Rickard… if you’re to be trapped here and he’s alone in the North…’ Gendry tried but Sansa finally found her voice, pushed by the rage he ignited within her. 

‘Rickard is my heir, he belongs in the North! Where he was born, now let me go.’ Sansa demanded, desperate to leave, the walls closing in on her, heart thudding in her chest, she felt lightheaded. Ghost growled behind them but the two were too engrossed in their fight to notice.

‘Rickard is my son, Sansa!’ Gendry pushed on, voice deep and angry. ‘Stop playing games with me or...’ he threatened but Sansa pushed him away before he could finish, his grip at her arm didn’t allow her to move away. Both were desperate for the child but only one could have him. 

‘Or what, Lord Baratheon?’ Jon’s voice from behind them had Gendry and Sansa’s eyes widening in actual, mutual terror. Turning around in unison, seeing Ghost growling at Jon, snapping his jaws at Gendry too. 

Jon’s firebathed expression was familiar to Sansa, she had seen it before, while he was breaking Ramsay’s every facial bone with his fists, stopping only when she had called his name. 

She wasn’t sure if she would be able to stop him now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh-oh.... Jealous Aegon bloody Targaryen is upon and and next chap is his POV!!!!!!!!
> 
> I was writing and writing but I realised I had to stop somewhere or the chap would end up like 10k+  
> I truly thought this would be the first confrontation chapter but the characters wrote themselves on their own so hang on there guys. We had a small electrified moment at the start of the chapter but then Sansa needed answers and Tyrion had to serve on some of them before well... before Balerion could have lunch! (no one noticed the change of the dragon's name? well Tyrion did) I couldn't pass the chance for her to know of Kinvara and now we know why Tyrion killed Bran, with or without his consent, had to be the expendable first ruler after the destruction and Bran was never to be lord of anything... so he served his purpose and Sansa ALMOST became Queen of the Seven Kingdoms...  
> I also had to delve into her experiences with executions and trauma because for the show everything was so easy but these are human beings and it was less than a decade when Sansa was sweet girl with flowers in her head who turned into the Queen of the North through so many obstacles so lets have some time to see through it all from her eyes.  
> if it wasn't for her sweet dragonwolf cousin landing before them all to lay down the law and some justice...
> 
> Our babes will have to fight over what they both think they're entitled to and only each other stand on the way...  
> we had some glimpses of Rickard related information and we're gonna have more soon I promise....  
> next chap is on Jon and we're gonna have some very interesting information about him and his change  
> kudos are love and comments are simply what keeps me going and your enthusiasm keeps me writing and giving you quick updates! fuel the muse and we're all going to see what happens next!!!! thank you for reading! <3


	6. Jon III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3 quick things before you start reading:  
> 1) your comments are simply killing me softly and depraving me from sleep, I even write ideas and point on my hands if my notebook is out of reach.  
> 2) this chap took precisely 2 hours of making notes (2-4am), 2 hours of staring at a blinking censor, wondering from where to start and dreading failure(4-6am) and 2 entire days to write down, edit and post.  
> 3) I'm viciously proud of this chapter although I'm not used on writing Jon's POV and I sincerely hope I made justice to a character that got butchered beyond recognition by D&D for a season and a half, with this chapter that drained me from energy but filled with emotion for the man who basically saved Westeros and got exiled for it, I hope to do honour to Jon Snow. Not a favorite of mine from the beginning, but definitely a beloved one to the very end!

_Chapter Six - Jon_

_Death is softer by far than tyranny - Aeschylus_

  
  
  


Her lean form approaching him breathed fresh air into his lungs, icy glare, fiery temper. Her beautiful, fire kissed hair glistened like amber under the sunlight. The rings around her fingers too, as she raised her arm to strike him. He wondered if any of them would have a direwolf carved upon its surface. He was amused by her effort but he didn’t show it, she would be more furious, his reflexes grasping her arm easily. He was mesmerised by her beauty, _radiant_ , just like in that feast when King Robert had reached Winterfell. Oh he had despised Joffrey that night, her promised, and every man around or close to her ever since. 

His once thought half-sister, fire kissed, forbidden. Ross in Wintertown and Ygritte later on had been good projections of what he had wanted from the beginning. Ever since his purge, he had got ridden of all illusions of why and how. 

It had been Sansa from the beginning. And now, even though through effort, he could have her. 

‘You need to be smarter,’ She had to be more diplomatic around the vultures that remained bent close by, though her face darkened at his words. Maybe taking them as a warning , instead of honest input. He hated she felt imprisoned by him but they had to find a way among each other, somehow the North had to remain independent but also become his again and she had to understand she had been destined for so much more. 

He wanted to kiss her knuckles, see the rings for himself but she yanked her hand free. Storming out of the dragonpit, Ghost following her, at least she would be safe back to her chambers until he dealt with the idiots around him. 

‘My Lord, she can’t just….’ Kinvara was biting out but he wouldn’t have it, his hand raised in a gesture for her to shut her mouth, his skin still tingling from Sansa’s soft touch. 

‘Kinvara! Enough!’ he barked at the Priestess. Yearning to touch Sansa again, to talk to her. But first, he had to take care of his newly acquired kingdoms. The North and its Queen would have to wait, or he would have to wait for them. 

Manfrey Martell was capable, he was standing on his feet and starting explaining what should happen. Davos was quieter, commanding guards to take Tyrion and Bronn away. Jon waited silently, he noticed Brienne was missing, he wasn’t sure where she had been but he would find out. 

Manfrey and Davos escorted them all inside and Jon had to admit, after the dramatic entrance he and Kinvara had displayed, all this diplomatic fever -along with the relief among the lords on who finally took over- was anticlimactic. But Jon didn’t mind, he wanted quietness, he wanted to reach for the royal guests’ chambers and to talk to her the soonest. 

‘My Lord, about Yara Greyjoy.’ Manfrey attempted, Jon looked at the southern man. He had been born in Dorne, only that linked him to that kingdom, he hoped the man before him wouldn’t prove himself a treasonous viper, for his own good. 

‘In Balerion’s belly. No need for bodies to remain behind for people to worship as martyrs. I made sure to attack only her ship, sparing thousands from the battle.’ he replied easily, the horror at the revelation followed by relief over the few casualties. Jon glanced at Gendry, he remained seemingly impassive at the mention of Yara’s fate. Jon was still feeling the unease in his stomach for Sansa’s defence of the young man. He had to speak with Sansa the soonest. 

Nevertheless, his wish hadn’t been granted for hours with the new council of his. Davos seemed nicer around him, more comfortable as the hours passed, eyeing Kinvara with suspicion but looking at Jon with hope, though laced with concern. Sansa’s relatives and friends were more suspicious but obedient, their unchanged status convenient enough for them. Sam was also there, silent, nervous. Jon glanced at his old friend many times. Both had changed, if Sam wished to, Jon would approach him too, once a brother to him. Jon would try, if there was still common ground among them, he would like to have a friend in King’s Landing as everything and everyone felt strange at best. 

The sun had set when the council had been dismissed for the day. Sam would send ravens across the continent. Announcing the new King and Hand, summoning Houses from the Iron Islands, the Reach and the Westerlands to come to King’s Landing so new local rulers could be decided upon. A raven had also been sent North, informing of Queen Sansa’s extended stay. Jon had sealed that letter with a lump in his throat. Brienne’s absence ate at him, it was hard for him to believe Bran’s Commander would leave him. It was hard for Jon to believe Brienne would let Sansa alone in King’s Landing, with or without himself landing on a massive dragon before them. 

Sansa’s door had been guarded by Northmen. Of course, there would be protection for the Queen in the North, especially after what she’d been through. He wished he could get in, avoid Ghost’s jaws and talk to her. But she wouldn’t want to lay eyes on him, he understood, he had been held as a hostage himself. He knew the feeling. 

At least Ghost was there with her. The only reason for a smile to form on Jon’s lips. The direwolf had been proven the loyalest, the best protector Jon could have asked for Sansa since he hadn’t been there to maintain his vow. 

_‘I will protect you, I promise.’_

He entered his chamber, the king’s rooms. Manfrey was smart and quick, ordered for all of Bran’s items and banners to be removed, leaving the room bare and neutral until Aegon Targaryen’s new sigil could be sewn and draped over the place. There was a table with plates full of cheese and fruit, wine and bread. Jon sighed, preferring ale and boar, but these would do too, he approached the table, trying some of the wine. 

He wondered if Sansa had even a bite in her own chambers. 

‘The she-wolf is safe, not happy, but safe, Aegon.’ Kinvara’s mocking tone behind him had Jon staring darkly at the priestess that came out of the shadows. ‘You can stop suffering over her every need, your Grace…’ Kinvara’s words had him setting down his goblet, eyes rolling before he could turn around and face her fully. Dressed in her red clothes, a smug smile on her face, lustful eyes upon him. He nodded calmly. They both had a long day, she should be in her own chambers. 

‘Where is her shield?’ Jon asked, needing to know. Kinvara’s smile flattered, Jon’s eyes narrowed. ‘Where is Brienne of Tarth, Kinvara?’ he repeated the question. The woman approached him, her front brushing against his, her hand snaking down his forearm until she could get the goblet from his fingers and set it on the table. He had been used on her efforts to seduce him, all of them failed but she always insisted, tiring him. He gripped her arms and moved her away from him, his eyes still searching hers for an answer. Kinvara finally sighed, knowing this time wouldn’t change anything. Her triumph of aiding him to become King tasted of responsibility and concern for him. 

She finally moved away and reached a hearth she had probably ordered to be brought to the chamber, the fire within it was already wild, the flames dancing. Their reflection in her eyes causing her lose to focus. Jon waited patiently for his answer as she fell in her light trance. 

‘Heading North,’ Kinvara answered, her voice colorless as she delivered what she saw. ‘She’s desperate, commanded by your she-wolf. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell.’ the woman’s words had Jon frowning. 

‘Brienne is not a Stark,’ he mused, Kinvara nodded. 

‘She’s going to protect a Stark, the youngest of them.’ Kinvara replied. Jon couldn’t help the smile this time gracing his face. Brienne shouldn’t be rushing to Winterfell, he would never touch his childhood home. He would never harm Arya. 

‘My sister is there?’ Jon asked for confirmation, without thinking about his words, making Kinvara scoff. 

‘Rhaenys Targaryen, your sister... died years ago.’ Kinvara bit out, reminding him of his actual lineage, to his immense annoyance. ‘No, your cousin is not there, but there is a Stark nonetheless… A baby boy, dark hair and eyes, beautiful strong child.’ Kinvara spoke the words that had Jon twirling towards the flames, as if he could will them to show him too. 

His stomach churning with emotion, jealousy, fear, pain. Had Sansa had a son? With whom? When? He had been asking about her all this time and never received such news. 

‘You never said anything about Sansa having a son.’ Jon accused angrily, clutching Kinvara’s arms and bringing her flush against him -unlike the way he had touched Sansa- he was bruising now, he knew. Jon was showing weaknesses he shouldn’t show, to anyone. That old, irrational man, a man unclean, Jon Snow wanted to protect Sansa’s boy. The reality of it all hurt him worse than the fire that had purged him in Volantis. Kinvara laughed at his sheer display of emotion after so long. 

‘I never said anything about Sansa having a son because her womb has not given fruit as of yet…’ Kinvara replied as if he was stupid. Jon breathed through his nose, trying to understand what she was saying. Flashes of Gendry’s glances towards Sansa in the dragonpit came before his eyes. 

‘Arya?’ Jon only asked and Kinvara smirked in reply. One of his hands darted from her arm to claw at her jaw, his blood singing with anger at the priestess’ little games. 

‘I had told you before and I’m reminding you for the last time, Kinvara. No more games with me. I will not be played by anyone, _ever again_. Am I understood?’ he was sure he saw the mirth in her gaze turning into genuine fear as he held her entire jaw in his grasp before he could wrench her away from him. ‘We believe in the same God, but don’t force me to send him one of his most fanatic devotees to him.’ he warned and Kinvara finally nodded, glancing at the flames of the hearth once more; in an effort to gather herself. Jon didn’t care what the Lord of Light whispered to her. Jon cared about what that God had done for him and only. Saving him twice so far, for some reason as many people declared about him. That was evidence enough to believe in something without losing his sanity after what he’d been through. 

‘When I return, make sure for the guards to be away from her door and you gone from my chambers.’ Jon finally commanded. That little appetite lost as he decided to go to the only truly loyal being that he had been left with. Leaving Kinvara to glower at him in peace.

The Red Keep was silent in the dead of the night, seemingly empty, yet he would swear he heard Ghost howling from Sansa’s balcony. He wondered if she was able to sleep or if nightmares plagued her sleep, like they did while he was close to her in Castle Black and afterwards, while they tried to gather forces to retake Winterfell. A lifetime ago, she had nightmares, maybe their baby nephew brought some peace to her. Guilt ate at him like a blade’s cut for keeping her away from him. 

The dragon inclined its long neck as Jon entered the dragonpit. The last dragon, the last Targaryen with him, a terrible thing, Maester Aemon had said once, he had been right. They only had each other now, purged together in that rite that still haunted his mind yet cleaned his soul. 

‘Balerion, pazavor dyni. Īlon vēttan ziry. Mijegon ossēnagon’ Jon’s words were calm, his hand touching the scales of the dragon’s neck, the beast engulfed him with his body. The fire brewing within their blood, keeping them warm against the breeze at night. Nothing compared to the frost of the Far North, nothing compared to the scorching beaches of Volantis. Jon closed his eyes, unable to sleep for yet another night. Eyes drifting closed but mind racing back to the night he had been purged of his old life. The day his resurrection had been complete. Melisandre had brought him back, healing the wounds of his chest. But through that ritual in Volantis, through fire and blood, he had become complete. At last, feeling whole in his skin, accepting who he was, why he lived for, making peace with his choices and setting his new goals, embracing his desires, his potential and weaknesses. 

One weakness, to be exact. 

_‘Aegon Targaryen...At last.’ Kinvara’s smile had been full of hope, happiness. Not many people had looked at him with such feelings in their eyes in so long._

_‘My name’s Jon Snow,’ he had struggled to reply despite his debility._

_‘Jon Snow was murdered in a manmade fortress, down below, at the Wall…for his crimes and betrayals, for his weaknesses and his passions.’ Kinvara replied with the smile never wavering. ‘Aegon Targaryen had been born that night, not fully but his heart beat again. Continuing Jon Snow’s work. Uniting the people, fighting the Long Night. Stopping the madness, saving lives… Your vows and your honour are broken, Aegon Targaryen. But nothing is lost; for the Lord of Light is merciful and good before his promised, his favorite. He’s not neglecting his children, he’s not abandoning his beloved like people tend to do…’_

_From all the words the Priestess spoke, one thing he had to counter but he kept silent._

_‘I will protect you, I promise,’ and he had, for that task successfully completed. He was proud._

_‘For now, she’s safe, your she-wolf. For now, she has adopted your crown, taken your kingdom, taken up upon your duties. And she’s loved, safe, alive. Now let us save you as well, let us make you live again….’ Kinvara knew of what he was thinking. ‘Through fire and blood.’ she added with that smile never falling. He was a hollow man, nothing mattered. Yet that pull had brought him that far North, where someone expected him at last, wanted him at last, sought him out._

_Volantis was an otherworldly place, fire met by fire there. The Dragon had landed them carefully on the grey beach of the once collapsed volcano. The earth vibrated with activity, growled like dragons did. Jon had looked down on the black sand, a dead raven had fallen there, so far away from where it should have been. Bran, Sansa, Arya, the pack had separated, would it survive?_

_The temple was simple, yet magnificent. The night of the ritual had arrived and only that day he was allowed inside. During a dark moon, no celestial witness in the sky. Bathed, fasted, prepared, the dragon followed him. On its altar, a large chalice with dark liquid inside and the bones of his last victim by it, he was certain. He turned and looked at Kinvara, eyes wild. She nodded with a smile, torch at her hand, encouraging him as if he was a toddler, hesitant to reach out and claim what was his._

_He moved to the altar. Looked at the white bones that belonged to Daenerys Targaryen. He realised the altar had been dripping with some kind of oil, kindling. Kinvara stood proud before him, getting the chalice as Drogon curled around the altar, engulfing flesh and bones. Kinvara nodded her head as she raised the chalice above his head, emptying it for the thick blood to fall upon him. His voice was caught in his throat at the feel of the warm liquid falling upon him, covering his face, dripping down from his jaw. He tasted it in a sick search for atonement. It tasted foul and bitter. Full of magic too, full of fire, Daenerys’ blood was warm as if it had just been drawn from her veins although he had killed her at least a year ago. Kinvara moved away and Drogon raised his neck, growled and breathed fire upon the altar. Igniting the temple in fire as Kinvara moved outside and started her hymns and incantations._

_‘Sagon sigligon! Bantis zōbrie issa se ossȳngnoti lēdys, se lanta hen ao! sagon sigligon rȳ ziry! ōños se arlie!’_

_Jon screamed as the flames licked at his skin without melting it, his flesh set on fire, without cooking in his own clothes. He hollered as every sin burnt through him_

_The sin of lusting after his sister, loving her, falling for her. Vowing no man would ever touch her again. Making it his new life’s purpose, his resurrection would have a reason. To protect her, to keep her alive, make her happy, even if never his. And along with her, the entire world she lived in. He would fight the night and the day, he would fight them all. For her._

_Sansa_

_Leaving for that bloody island. Dragonstone. Schooled by Sansa about courtesy and placating, about lies and how to wear them like armour._

_You need to be smarter..._

_He needed the dragonglass and he needed the dragons and the armies. And he knew he was going to a monster that demanded bent knees instead of allies against the Night. But the night wouldn’t destroy Winterfell, it wouldn’t just kill Sansa and the rest; it would wipe them out. He would save them all from the Night King._

_She had accepted to help him after seeing the caves of her own land. ‘My people won’t follow a southern ruler,’ he had warned the fool but she had lectured him on his pride, instead… When her own pride held hostage the Seven Kingdoms, unprotected against the Winter that was coming. He could see the darkness in her but he had no choice but to meddle with it as to fight another, greater darkness still._

_‘You’re one more and the same.’ he had told her in her face, and she had simply verified his suspicions. Burning supplies and surrendered armies, Sam’s family. She was dangerous, ruthless, he had to find a way around her stubbornness, around her obsession over a throne that mattered not if everyone was swallowed by the darkness._

_He would placate her until she was moving North. Sansa would have been proud, Sansa was constantly with him, as he closed his eyes at the edge of the cliffs and pictured her face, her smile, her lips upon his. His yearn for her, her company, her faith in him, her soft eyes, his sinful thoughts of her skin against his, led him towards the Dragon Queen. He had to burn that sick shame that coursed through his veins every time he thought of Sansa. The Dragon Queen was falling, willing, he knew the signs of a woman in love. He had cried over the dead body of one he had once loved back, when he had thought he knew what love was._

_Later on, in retrospect, he would blame his mad blood for seeking out Daenerys as to get over Sansa… Targaryens and their incestious ways. He had been bitterly disgusted by the Lannisters and the Dragons, only to be worse than all of them, combined._

_The game turned darker as he tried to keep her satisfied, tried to keep himself distracted as they neared Winterfell. No southern ruler would be able to bend the North. That’s why he had made sure it belonged to Sansa already. A trueborn daughter of the North, he had given her the only thing that mattered to him, since he couldn’t give her himself, knowing she would never accept to lay with her own brother. He had decided he wouldn’t be another monster in her book. He would take the North from her, but only seemingly, until the war was over. But then, he would make sure Sansa would be the ruler of the kingdom. As a Queen or Wardeness, it didn’t matter as long as she survived and stayed where she wished to live, where she belonged._

_His honour and the northern Crown had been a fair exchange. A barren, beautiful woman would be enough since he couldn’t have Sansa. Dany would take him away to the South, unable to have royal bastards between each other, another relief. He would drown his desire and need with convenience. He would smother his feelings with carnal pleasure. He wouldn’t be around when Sansa would finally be happily married to a man of her choice, getting heavy and round with his babes, living the happy life she once wished to have, the life he could never participate in with the roles he wished to have._

_Only he hadn’t expected the changes at Winterfell. Sansa’s excruciatingly firm and reckless defiance. Bran’s insight, his very presence. Arya’s return and siding with Sansa, of all people. A pack of wolves reunited, as strong as ever, with trust and intent, just like Jon himself had instructed them to be. They had so many enemies, after all. Tyrion’s stupid miscalculations and Cersei’s betrayals were changes he had hoped to avoid as well. His own parentage; the biggest change of all. He hadn’t thought the game so complicated, so dangerous. When he realised Sansa and Danaerys would be happy only if one of them was out of the way of the other, he did the only thing he knew how to do best. And he lost the game the day he decided to take that turn. The Lone Wolf would die._

_He closed in to himself, kept his family out completely and focused on pacifying the beast he had lured inside their home. A beast that was losing patience, faith and sanity with each passing day. Aggravated by the lack of worship and love on that side of the sea. He had been left alone to love and worship the dragon and in his effort to do so, he started losing himself, delving into Daenerys’ madness until he had been consumed._

_He excused her failures as if they were his, because deep down they were. Every threat towards Sansa, every implication of hostility took place because he brought Daenerys there and Sansa had to be protected even though trapped in her own home because of him._

_He failed, it was the simple truth and it weighed him down as if the sky had fallen upon him. He failed his family, his people, his crown, himself. He failed and became what Catelyn Stark had always believed him to be, a vile bastard. He had forced himself to love the dragoness and he had forced himself to stop loving his sister. Another failure, a half man left behind of it all._

_Though when Sam told him of his parentage, a chance at retribution had shone in the darkness of his failures. A chance to die as something more than a kneeler that rushed behind a dress made of scales._

_In his effort to keep his beloved people safe, he admitted to the Dragon Queen he would tell Sansa and Arya the truth. Afraid Daenerys would assume what suited her about his cousins as to blame and condemn them. He had to tell them, he had to restore Ned Stark’s name in his children’s eyes about betraying his wife, he never had a bastard with another woman. He had been a loyal brother, just like what Jon had been trying to be himself. The Starks deserved to know._

_Sansa’s desperation to save him fed his selfish foolishness. He told her the truth and made her swear a vow he knew she would break because she loved him, and he found out too late and he hated her and himself for it. He was so hurt and twisted, he preferred to keep the betrayal unhealed in his heart. He had gawned at her, taken her faith and gave nothing in return but he kept her betrayal against her. He was vile, mad, failed. She was supposed to be the better half, always had been. Until she retaliated by speaking the truth she had vowed to keep. Until she became a projection of him, and he hated her for it. He hated her as much as he loved her for becoming the one thing he had lost himself to prevent her from turning out to be. Like himself._

_It was too late to feel elevation for Sansa being his cousin instead of his half-sister. Too tainted by what he was doing to her, for her, inside their very home. No matter how clearly she showed her feelings towards him, he couldn’t possibly return them. Not with the Dragon Queen breathing hot steam on their backs, threatening to burn Sansa. She had been pulled at the front of the game, and she had changed tactics too, she wasn’t a bystander anymore and that infuriated him because it endangered her._

_‘I believe in you.’ he wanted to tear at her, for her undying faith in him, for her gentle smile, the admiration in her eyes when he deserved anything but. For her betrayal, for her will to save him when all he wanted was to vanish._

_‘Never tell them who you really are!’ He was exhausted, used, unworthy, dishonored, but the Battle for the Dawn had been won after so many years of preparation for it and he intended to die in the Great War, as instead of victory, honour and pride, he only felt hollowed and defeated. Putting an end to the miserable selfish life of the Northern Fool he had turned out to be. While Sansa stood unbent, proud, honourable, at least in the eyes of their people, just like their... her father._

_He had taken all the filth for her. He had promised after all, she had been protected, she had survived. But he had been too soiled not to spoil whatever he touched, a coward to tell her what he felt for her before he descended for the South. And the Dragon Queen had survived as well. The Great War was upon them although he considered the game lost._

_Rheagal’s death had pained him more than he had expected. The beast had been magnificent, loyal, obedient though neglected in favour of Drogon, their mother’s favorite. She had driven him wounded in open battle, reaching King’s Landing in plain sight until it had been shot down from the sky. The foolish, reckless conqueror had lost yet another dragon, the gulf of King’s Landing hadn’t been as easy or unprepared as the Reach. Just like Viserion beyond the Wall, Rheagal had paid the price for their mother’s nonexistent strategy. Only on that dragon’s back, Jon had felt a measure of freedom, the wind purifying all his sins and crimes while atop fire incarnate. The fall of her second child had been the catalyst for Daenerys’ descent into madness._

_‘All I’ve ever wanted, the right Ruler on the Iron Throne.’ Varys had tried to persuade him on the beaches of Drgaonstone. But the war was ragging on and he had decided not to survive it after all. He didn’t care about Targaryen coins tossed in the air, he didn’t care about his claim, he only cared about avoiding carnage._

_‘Let it be fear…’ she had whispered against him when he had been too repulsed to give himself to her once again. He was done trying to placate and pacify her, keeping her from burning down people without reason or trial. Every time he touched her before that night, he had pictured copper hair and blue eyes, his soul rotting away every time a little more. But after a point, he knew, Sansa’s kisses would have been gentler, smoother, happier. He had stopped picturing her, forcing himself to kiss and fuck and pacify a dragoness whose patience ran dangerously thin every day. Until he snapped and pulled away, unable to play the game he once had thought would last days, it had dragged on to months and he was too spent and used to keep up._

_He should have killed her that evening in Dragonstone. Close the circle where it had begun for the two of them. But he had been a coward, again. Cersei Lannister wouldn’t rest until she had Sansa’s head on a spike and Daenerys Targaryen was the only one strong enough to take her down by then. So many enemies, so many monsters around them still, and all aggravated and ready to tear at each other. He would have to finish off the survivor._

_‘She will be a good Queen.’ his sanity was screaming to stop the monster, to stop uttering the lie to everyone, staining them with his filth. His pride told him he had made the right choice, that she was being stressed and saddened for losing her friend and her children. That she wouldn’t level a city because of her personal banes. Excuses he would have laughed at; if spoken to him by another._

_Her failures were his and he was tired of fighting, of failing._

_The greatest failure the two last Targaryens had in common smelled of burnt flesh, looked like the carcasses of dead children, as Drogon breathed fire upon thousands in the surrendered city._

_‘I’m not my father,’_

_‘She’s not her father,’_

_‘No, she’s much prettier,’_

_Sansa’s words had echoed in his head, the bitter truth she knew before many, snapping him out of his stupor during the battle. A woman was struggling to save herself from rapists and looters. He remembered distantly Sansa telling him of what happened to her during the bread riot. He spared the woman, in vain he knew, she probably burnt later on that day._

_He screamed for their retreat. He screamed his rebellion against the tyrant who would be Queen of the ashes. Coming to his senses, back to himself, out of his wicked game, even if too late. A city was falling, partially because of him. Because he hadn’t killed the killer._

_By the end of that day, the sky had been covered by a thick cloud of ash. The sun was hidden, just like his common sense. Targaryens turned mad didn’t they? It didn’t matter he was half Stark after all. His mind played tricks on him, between excusing her actions, thinking about the same blood ran through his veins, would he have done the same? Would someone be there to lay excuses for him too?_

_The veil had started to lift when the Dragon mentioned Winterfell to her victorious armies. Arya’s bloodied face afterwards had shown his anchor. He had been ready to flee the city, go with his younger cousin to save the North, to Sansa. His panic eclipsed by clarity. He had to put an end to this first. He had hoped to die in the war but the battle was over and he was still standing, with a purpose and only._

_‘I will protect you, I promise.’_

_During his talk with Tyrion, he had refocused. Sansa had no choice and he knew she would rather die than bend to the Dragon Queen and Daenerys would have been more than glad to see Sansa burn._

_No, Sansa would be safe._

_Until the last moment, he hoped somehow all this would change, that the dragon’s thirst for fire and blood had been satisfied. But no, queenslaying would be another stain on his soul. Even at those moments, he was vile, selfish, thinking of his reputation and the remains of his honour. He lied to her, promised her he loved her, at last plunging the dagger through her heart. Fire cannot kill a dragon, but like her mad father, she was finally bleeding out before the Iron Throne, only she had made it to burn them._

_Drogon had spared him, to his dismay, picking up his mother and taking off. Jon’s greatest punishment, he had lost his dragon and the beast had lost his rider._

_Alone in the world, a terrible thing._

_He knew in his bones, not his filthy skin or stained soul, in his bones he knew, the world would be safe. Sansa was safe too in it and she would do her best to bring justice upon it._

_The Council had been raised and alongside it, his doubts over what he had done, after all. Someone had to take care of the kingdoms, someone brave, gentle and strong. Someone able, yet no such man existed in that council. Sansa would be fitting. But she would never wish to stay in King’s Landing, ruler over it, she had only reached it for him, to save and restore him. She halfway succeeded, he would live, she thought she was making him a favor when all he had hoped for was death. The little Bird was free at last, taking the North with her, making it her nest forever although she would stand alone in it._

_She had taken the North and he couldn’t have been more proud and more hurt. Their home was only hers as he was exiled. Homeless once again, free, alone._

_‘Winterfell is our home!’_

_‘You are a Stark to me,’_

_‘You’re Aegon Targaryen.’_

_‘I don’t care if you’re my half-brother, we’re family!’_

_‘I wish there would be another way…Can you forgive me?’_

_‘The North is free, thanks to you.’_

_‘But they lost their king.’_

_‘Ned Stark’s daughter will speak for them, she’s the best they could have asked for.’_

_‘You were exactly where you were supposed to be.’_

_‘Aegon Targaryen… At Last.’_

_The fire had died down at the first light of dawn, the temple burnt to the ground around him. The dragon was scalding like charcoal. The bones had turned into ash around him, the blood burnt off his skin, cleaned him to his very soul. He was a man anew. All failures and fears were gone. Purged and cleaned from doubt, guilt and shame._

_Only his heart’s desire remained, with her copper hair and beautiful eyes. Along his honest, bone-deep violent feelings for her._

_‘She will be forced to marry eventually, even if she struggles to avoid it. The vultures will try and eat at her. The North is a hard land to yield. The Kingdoms will demand of her to ascend, that will be the beginning of her end. Her skin turned from porcelain, to ivory to steel, that steel might melt under the fire that expects her. ‘ Kinvara had told him the first time he asked about her, trembling and shivering after the ritual._

_‘Mazilībagon aōha mind va se sigligon vala se zaldrīzes, Aegon. Ivestragī zirȳla sagon syt sir, issa ȳgha.’_

_Bearing a new plan and purpose for him. He would spend years in Volantis, getting ready for his return and return he would for a better world Sansa would thrive in, a world moulded by dragonfire commanded by him, if need be._

Aegon opened his eyes, every sleepless night was filled with his purge’s memories. Maybe one of the Lord’s exchanges for his third and final chance at life. As not to repeat the wrongdoings of Jon Snow. He patted a foil from Balerion’s side, causing the dragon to nudge him with his massive jaw, making him budge and smile. 

‘Balerion, jikagon arghugon, qrīdrughagon hen kesīr.’

Aegon stepped away from the beast as the dragon took off as command. He sighed as the dragon was soon lost for the night. He tilted his head towards the dark Red Keep. There was flickering light coming from the balcony that belonged to Sansa’s chambers. He took a deep breath, his new home, the home built by his dynasty, his new guest, his latest prisoner. 

He wouldn’t fail this time. He was Aegon Targaryen and Sansa Stark was so much more than his guest or prisoner. She was his love.

His steps led him to her chambers’ door. Unguarded as he commanded for it to be. He didn’t care through what means Kinvara had taken the guards away, carnal or occult magics, he only cared that the Northmen were not there. 

The temptation was consuming him as he reached the wooden barrier, resting his forehead against it, his fingers folding around the knob. He twisted his wrist, the door opened soundlessly and he swayed, peering inside slowly. The smell of mint and lavender hitting his nostrils, causing his eyes to drift close only for an instant.

He wasn’t surprised when the first thing he saw before him when he reopened them were white teeth snarling silently at him. Ghost was blocking the view, showing Aegon his intention clearly. 

‘I would never harm her, boy.’ his words were soft and honest, a bare whisper. He knew the wolf belonged to her now. He was glad, they had found each other like he had found Balerion. Although at that moment, Ghost’s presence was inconvenient for the small glimpse he wished to have of her, to make sure she was alright. 

He was surprised though as Ghost covered his teeth and sat on his rear legs after a moment more, granting him his wish. Revealing half the room, from the small opening Aegon could see through. The direwolf remained where he sat, blocking him from doing more but lay eyes on the seemingly sleeping form on the edge of the bed. Of course she would sleep there, ready to dart out of it, if in danger. A sea of copper around her, the swift clinging to her body; sheer enough to make him gulp down. A frown etched upon her face even in her sleep, making him mirror her expression at her restlessness. Her hand under the pillow, probably clutching at a weapon of some sort.

He nodded to himself as he took a step back, eyes falling at Ghost who almost nudged the door closed with his snout. Aegon exhaled silently before he could drag his tired feet back to his new chambers. The next day would be as tiring as this one along every day that would follow. 

He hadn’t expected her to break fast with the others. He had forced a couple of grapes down himself. Her rooms were empty when he had knocked at the door the next day. Terrified maids had informed him the Queen was in the cells, her direwolf probably with her. He had nodded and left the room. He needed a chance to talk with her, explain to her how he wished for things to unfold, face her wrath at least for what he had been doing. 

He had been needed by Martell and Davos, planning out the trial, bringing information for the next court that would be about Bronn. 

‘I want them executed, publicly but I want justice to be served first.’ Aegon had declared the only thing he wishes his councillors to make happen. The council had nodded, along the High Lords. Aegon couldn’t help but look at Gendry again, impassive, silent, even smiling the tiniest when he noticed he had been watched by the new King of the Kingdoms. Now he knew, yet it was only slightly better. Where was Arya, why her child had been left with Sansa. Why and when Gendry had been with Arya intimate enough to get her with child. If everything happened after his return to Winterfell, he had simply missed too much, but he wouldn’t beat himself about it anymore, he was done fretting, though he had to be informed as to know how to proceed. He needed to speak with Sansa the soonest. 

The dragonpit was full of people. Kinvara had done a good job secretly spreading the word of the God of Light and the return of the king through her priests and spies. He had been informed that ever since the destruction of Sept of Baelor by Cersei Lannister, followed by the coup by the sparrow, there had been a religious disarray across the kingdoms that no faith had restored. Kinvara had found the perfect opportunity to spread the faith and his upcoming establishment under the noses of Tyrion’s spies. Aegon had been glad that without Varys and Littlefinger, that net of whispers had been broken beyond repair, opening ways and windows for information to drip into the minds of people easier. 

Balerion had returned from his hunt, Ghost was also there, at Sansa’s side as she entered the pit. His eyes following her, never sparing him a glance back. She looked tired though beautiful, black dress, opals around her long neck, sea of hair trapped into a low hold across one shoulder. Icy demeanor melting, flattering. Davos had told him she had been seen exiting Tyrion’s cell. He had allowed visitors precisely for her, knowing she would go to him, demanding answers her poor heart might have not been ready to accept. 

The trial and execution wouldn’t drag, he had commanded so to spare her the agony. He knew how hard it was for her, she had been through too many executions for her own good, too much blood. And he would be merciful, no screaming, no fire, no pain, not even a body. He would be quick, executing the guilty, since he was passing the sentence, looking at him in the eyes, his dragon would do the rest quickly afterwards. Same way he dealt with Yara, same way he intended on dealing with all his enemies. 

And it was quick, unlike Yara’s spitted profanities, stopped only when her head was cut off her body, Tyrion remained silent. Neck poised as much as his condition allowed him for Jon to need a single strike. A strike given with more force than intended after Jon noticed that instead of some final words, Tyrion glanced at Sansa with longing, lost potential, with genuine care in his eyes. 

Balerion’s massive mouth caught both the head and the body in one go, his snout catching sand from the pit in his effort. He snapped his jaws twice, swallowing the parts quickly. Longclaw, -one of the few things that still existed from his past life- was only dripping with blood as Sansa darted from her seat, stiff shoulders, clenched hands into fists, paler than ever. Ghost tailing her until she disappeared in the tunnel leading to the Keep. 

He exhaled, the sound of the people cheering for their new spectacle maker deafening. Fighting every urge to follow her as everyone watched, his eyes stuck at the dark opening of the tunnel. Balerion growling after swallowing down, caused Jon’s eyes to travel at the next man who was leaving his seat. Gendry Baratheon was surging after Sansa and Aegon was moving too, reflex and need combined, mingled with jealousy, unease and anger. 

Kinvara was lecturing to the people over devine justice. Martell was announcing the next spectacle the day after about Bronn’s trial but Jon was only seeing the tunnel’s path, blooded sword still at hand. Entering it with swift strides, listening to her screaming had him running towards the darkening corridor, following the furious voices. 

_‘‘Rickard is my heir, he belongs in the North! Where he was born, now let me go.’_ her voice was mad with anger, echoing around him, reverberated through his very being. 

The torchlight had him soon facing Ghost who snarled at him. Behind the direwolf, Gendry was gripping at Sansa’s arm, her face a mask of unease, fury and fear. The blood hummed within his temples, blinding him with fury at the gesture. No one would touch her again, he had promised her. 

‘Rickard is my son, Sansa!’ Gendry was demanding angrily, a remainder that sounded more like an ultimatum. ‘Stop playing games with me or...’ The threat had Sansa shoving Gendry viciously in her effort to release her, yet he still held at her arm tightly. Spikes of pride at her bravery sliced through Aegon’s chest, along spikes of rage at Gendry’s refusal to let go of her.

Hot, liquid fury boiled his insides, a storm gathering, a passion he hadn’t felt in a long time. It both startled and rejuvenated him. 

‘Or what, Lord Baratheon?’ he finally bit out the question, making his presence known, his tone had even Ghost whine momentary before he could turn and snap his jaws at Gendry too, for a fraction of the second, the beast siding with him. 

Sansa, along with Gendry, -still at his grasp- turned and looked at Aegon in horror. Another man was mistreating her but her fury was turning into terror as she laid eyes on him instead. He would have huffed his frustration at her stupid reflex for fear of him, of what Aegon was capable of. Sansa should have known by now, he was capable of anything for her. He was so tempted to run his sword upon Gendry Baratheon’s arm first, so he would finally stop touching her, before he could run his blade through his gut, justifying the horror in her eyes. 

Along the terror in her eyes however, he could see the familiarity, the power she still held upon him. Stopping him with a glance or a word, when a hundred men couldn’t have possibly do it, just like with Ramsay. At that moment, making him humane enough to wait for Gendry’s answer before he could give in to his impulses and strike down the man. 

Aegon had missed his anchor, same as the one Jon Snow used to have. 

He had missed Sansa. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Valyrian translation: (‘Be reborn! The night is dark and full of terrors, the two of you! Be reborn through it! Alight and anew!’  
> Balerion, go hunt, away from here  
> Focus your mind on the reborn man and your dragon, Aegon. Let her be for now, she is safe.)
> 
> GENDRYA HAD A BABY!!!and if it wasn't for Kinvara's annoying little quips about the Targaryens and Jon/Aegon's snap we would have known of Arya's fate. 😒I don't like dragging plotlines or getting plotholes although I craved a scene of Sansa screaming to him Rickard isn't her child, no worries she has plenty to scream at him about lol. 
> 
> Kinvara is a fanatic there and has magical powers, she has her own agenda and her own purposes but she's Jon's ally and made all that effort to purge and bring him mentally back to himself, if not help him ascend to his full potential. 
> 
> as for the big part of it, the retribution part, I hope my take on every action, thoughts, back-steps and little triumph of Jon in season 8 were justified, everything that happened from his own view is always a bittersweet drink for me to take down, but I hope I explained my point, where it was explainable, through the bad writing from D&D, I can only explain some things as simple failures. I've failed in my life too, destroyed it because of my failures actually and there was no explanation for it, only a series of stupid decision that after a point simply went out of hand, so I kinda get Jon and that's why I portrayed his POV thus. I can only hope even if some of you don't agree with me, you can see my respect and effort for him no matter what
> 
> as for the final part of the chapter, I hope I remained on the tender, silent, a bt overstepping boundaries, caring person boat without jumping on the creeper boat who watches sansa sleep from the door lol, Ghost shutting the door on his face with his snout had me loling while my hubby was looking at me strange  
> as I promised this is a dark story and when I say dark I mean human with explanation, therefore the mercy killing by a cruel gesture of Balerion eating Tyrion, killing Yara exclusively, yet losing his tempter over Gendry's hand on Sansa.
> 
> NOW I feel like the story has finally eased to the right level for both characters, although we still have some things to know about Sansa and the past 4 years of her life, I feel like I did Jon and her some first justice, brought back life to their characters so we can finally understand some of the motives and in short...  
> THE CONFRONTATION CHAPTER IS UPON US, FOLKS 
> 
> comments are love and inspiration and I desperately need them so I can know if you liked or hated the way I worked with Jon's character, eternal love for reading and enjoying this!  
> (sorry for the massive footnote, I'm babbling like Sam when I'm nervous)


	7. Sansa IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who am I kidding? you're already scrolling past this!  
> thank you for reading and loving this!

_Chapter seven - Sansa_

_“There are no heroes...in life, the monsters win.”_

  
  
  


‘Or what, Lord Baratheon?’ Jon’s voice dripped hot within her bones, causing her to shiver as she turned and faced him. Her arm numbing from Grendry’s grip at it. 

How much had Jon heard?

His eyes were glued on the hand wrapped holding Sansa. The atmosphere ignited with tension as silence fell heavy upon them, the challenging question hanging over their heads. Gendry let go quickly, Sansa fought the urge to rub at her arm, showing no sign of pain, maybe that would spare him from Balerion’s teeth, although she was sure there would be a bruise soon. She hoped everyone would be on their way to their kingdoms by then. 

_‘Jon is Jon, I trust him, he’ll keep me safe.’_

‘Jon,’ she tried the same spell like back then, while he beat the life out of Ramsay, before he gave her the kill. The spell worked, snapping him out of his stupor, the murderous thoughts flickered in his eyes calming, the storm clearing as his eyes climbed up to hers. ‘I...I’m fine,’ she added, trying to break the tension between the three by reassuring Jon, hopefully sparing Gendry. With another shiver down her spine, Sansa realised this man seemed more like the man she knew before Dragonstone, rather than the man who had returned with the Dragon Queen at Winterfell. His dark eyes remained upon hers, locking in that old, familiar wrestle of emotions. Gendry suddenly forgotten between them. Ghost growled again, this time standing between Sansa and the two men, grunting at both, sensing the tension. 

‘That doesn’t answer my question, though I’m glad you are.’ Jon offered through gritted teeth, his gaze darting at Gendry, staring down the man who bowed his head quickly. ‘Or what, Lord Baratheon? You never answered me,’ Jon pushed on, challenging the man, Sansa had her dispute with the young man who had finally released her arm but she wouldn’t be the cause of his death, nor would she let Rickard a fatherless boy. She stepped forward, passing by her wolf who growled in warning and Gendry who remained muted, getting between the two men. Standing before Jon whose eyes only darkened at the gesture darting between her and Gendry, but she wouldn’t cower. 

‘Jon…’ Sansa attempted to draw his attention on her, as if it had wavered even for a second. ‘We only have a disagreement over… a matter of ours.’ she tried, knowing she sounded stupid, he probably had heard more than she would like him to. Still, she needed to buy Gendry some time for things to quiet down. 

‘Arya’s son? I wonder how you two ended up with that child…’ Jon wondered, eyes traveling on her as she eclipsed Gendry from Jon’s view. Sansa frowned at the words as Ghost this time moved between her and Jon, trying to keep them apart but Sansa moved her hand, causing the beast to sit down and whine stressfully. She was certain nor she or Gendry had spoken a word about Arya while at the tunnel. They hadn’t spoken Arya’s name in years for that matter. 

_Kinvara_. 

Fury lurched inside Sansa’s chest, dripping down in her stomach as she felt her blood racing, she wanted to scream. Jon hadn’t just showed up in their lives, claiming what he had never wished to have in the first place, he was also supernaturally sneaking into her business. 

‘Gendry, go,’ her command left no space for argument from either of the two men or the direwolf as Gendry finally backed away and rushed down the rest of the corridor, leading to the Red Keep. Leaving the two cousins to stare at each other, a storm ready to break between them after the momentary calm. 

She didn’t have to demand of him to tell her how he knew of Rickard. The answer was on his face, just like the lack of remorse about his method. It wrecked her, the way he stood, proud, unyielding, determined. Isn’t it what she once had hoped for him to be? What had happened to that broken man who had tightened his arms around her at the docks of that same city, avoiding his forgiveness for her through words of politics, stealing her breath at the sudden tightening of his arms, keeping her breath ever since. 

‘What happened to you?’ the question came out of her lips with a sigh, so different from the way she had demanded it of him the day before. Her chest too tight to keep the tension before him, unable to run on such highs again, she was exhausted, had been exhausted for years now. His eyes softened, she could see it, his gaze searching instead of demanding. His breath became less audible as he too calmed a fraction, they stood alone in the torch-lit corridor. 

‘Everything,’ Jon confessed, disarming her further. ‘Everything happened to me…’ he added, voice steady, matter-of-factly, tender; cutting deeper than she had expected. Her gaze fell at the brutally truthful answer, seeing Tyrion’s blood still on his sword glistening in the firelight made her sick again. He was so familiar yet so different. Sansa couldn’t extinguish where her fear turned into relief and where her rage stopped for the pride to take root. The walls were closing in on her again, snapping her out of her emotional turmoil to throw her into that constant defense. It was so much easier to be angry at him, for the moment she would stop, she wasn’t sure what would come bleeding out of her armor. 

‘Why don’t I stand trial?’ she asked, her eyes darting back at his, her voice challenging him. Half his accusations had been false, unbased. She still had his letter as Warden of the North, declaring the North to the Dragon Queen, her actions -at least most of them- had been justified. Bran and Tyrion had exiled him to the place he had been murdered and in the North he had been reborn, his promised land, her dominion. ‘Afraid of the North coming down to save me through a war against you?’ the challenge vocalised without a second thought. Her words ignited a new fire within his eyes, instead of infuriating; they excited him, somehow, that frightened her. 

_‘Until I return… the North is yours.’_

‘The North… I could never be afraid of the North…’ Jon mused, his voice suddenly calm, assured, causing her to uncomfortably feel that by his words over the North, he meant more... She hated him. ‘Besides… the trial would be rigged.’ he added, this time making a step towards her, causing Ghost to stand on all fours again as Jon neared her. Inches separating their bodies. She braced herself, chin held up, walls rising around her, practised and impregnable. 

‘By your new council?’ the implication clear, she hated him and his priestess. She didn’t care if she sounded jealous, she _hoped_ she sounded hateful. 

‘By myself,’ Jon countered, reaching a step closer. Longclaw held away from her, he knew she could stand the blood, she had stood through much worse. Ghost whined on their side, unable to get in the middle anymore, uncomfortable with his own failure to protect Sansa. She reached with her hand, her eyes never leaving Jon’s, touching Ghost’s cheek, causing the beast to calm and sit back down, his eyes never leaving the two humans before him even though he obeyed his mistress. Jon’s eyes flickered towards the direwolf before they could turn -softer than before- on Sansa once more. 

‘He never obeyed me like that.’ he admired, voice low, only for her to hear, pride and jealousy and an intimate sense of belonging. 

‘Maybe you never tried enough with him,’ Sansa countered back, hoping she could cut deep as well. She probably could as he nodded slowly, regret flickering in his eyes, over what exactly, she wasn’t so sure. ‘I thought he returned to Winterfell because you died.’ the words escaped her lips, sincere and pained, causing him to exhale and nod solemnly. 

‘I did.’ the words had her releasing a breath she hadn’t realised had caught up in her throat. He seethed his sword in the gravel, his hands reaching for her arms. His touch soft, unlike Gendry’s, unlike anyone else’s. ‘But now, I’m here,’ That first embrace at Castle Black, it felt like that, relief at his presence, security over the cruel world out there, protection against anyone who would try and harm them. Her heart kicked against her ribcage, these were feelings she had smothered a long time ago. They had no reason coming back now. Her lips formed a tight line, her lungs screaming for deeper breaths.

‘Let me go,’ she whispered, void of demand or pleading. He obeyed, his hands brushing down the skin of her forearms, falling to his sides. ‘To the North.’ she added, his changing expression, the mixture of denial and guilt answered her, igniting a new wave of rage rising up from the depths of her heart. 

‘That cannot happen…’ his words were soft, consoling for what he seemed as if forced to do to her. Keep her in the cage she once had been held, countering the freedom and the home he had helped her reclaim. Holding her in the South when her ancestral home was the North. 

‘You’re a monster.’ her voice low, finally cutting as deep as she violently wished him to feel. His eyes betrayed his own cold demeanor, the pain at the simple truth, the admission, the knowledge deep into his bones.

‘Once it was you who was ready to start a war anew over a sacked city…’ his words made her actually wince. 

_‘If you look outside the walls of your city, you will find thousands of Northmen who will explain to you why harming Jon Snow is not in your interest.’_

She had flexed against Grey Worm, the only one truly standing against the armies of the Dragon Queen. And she would have, she would have commanded their armies to fight for him, even if the ashes in the capital hadn’t settled down yet. Jon hadn’t been present at the Council, held prisoner of their enemies. She hated the input he had in her past actions, in her life, in the openings he had left gaping open with his actions. 

‘Oh your Priestess knew to show you that…’ she demanded, voice hardening, rising, as she had nothing to counter him with about the war she was ready to start in his name. Damn name and damn man. Her voice betrayed the jealousy, the agony. She had embraced herself, the monstrosities she had committed herself. The war had changed her, there was no denial there. She hated it but she had accepted herself in her struggle to move on, she wasn’t the little bird anymore. 

‘Maybe I am,’ she finally admitted. ‘Maybe we both are, it had felt good, hadn’t it?’ she asked, this time approaching Jon the final inches separating them. ‘What we did to Ramsay...’ She demanded to know, the storm would rain fire down upon them. She would swear she could hear both their hearts thudding in their chests. _Good_. They were still alive, both of them, alive and feeling and thinking. 

‘Did it feel good killing the Dragon Queen?’ her words had the pupils of his eyes dilating, in realisation or recognition, Sansa wasn’t sure. ‘As good as it felt for me, killing Littlefinger?’ she knew Jon had watched that vile creature crawling around her, lusting after her. She had believed it was brotherly love and his promise of protection back then, now she wasn’t so sure. Tyrion had filled her mind with a motive very different for Jon’s actions than the one she was aware until now. ‘Had the moment filled you with relief? Covering the pain and the anguish of taking the life of a person who loved you?’ she twisted the blade through the cut she had inflicted upon him. 

Ghost growled as Jon’s hands shot up, cupping her face, bringing her impossibly closer, causing her a sharp intake of breath as their bodies collided. Breaths held at their throats, gazes locked, the warmth of each other’s body sipping through the other. A torment of emotion entangling them, silent, like the eye of the storm that had risen between them, still, silent, frozen in time. 

‘I’ve never answered you…’ his breath was hot against her skin, his eyes as clouded as hers. 

‘About what?’ she asked in a haze, unable to tear her eyes away from his,unable to yank herself free from his hold. A lifetime ago, he had approached her, gentler, cupping her head and kissing her forehead, lingering there, the first person showing her affection in years, or had he shown more, her mind was fogged, her stomach knotting as the hands that had yielded a sword to take a man’s head were now so tender around her face. 

‘If I loved her…’ his voice deep, igniting fire within her. ‘Or if I did it all for the North…’ he added, his eyes flickering on her lips for a moment. She gulped down with difficulty as he looked up at her eyes, his pupils still dilated, wild, desperate. ‘Where you truly jealous of her? His question gave her all the power she thought that had been sucked out of her because of the proximity. 

‘Why do you care?’ her own voice deep, low, wishing to finally yank the truth out of his heart, warm and dripping scarlet. 

‘I always cared…I still do.’ his answer had her lips parting, her tongue licking them, unable to accept the taste of his words, the gesture didn’t go unnoticed as his gaze darted at her mouth once more. 

‘Did you love her, then?’ Sansa desperately needed time, space, but also the truth for the past. Turning the question towards the fallen dragon between them. His eyes darkened as she avoided the truth of his words for the present. He had avoided too many truths in the past, tailing the dragon and neglecting her. 

Revenge was sweet and she tended on tasting it on everyone who harmed her, on him. 

‘I never answered because I had nothing true to say…’ he opened up more and she hated him for it. The truth bleeding down upon her like warm blood, the blood of so many and of each other. 

_‘Who manipulated whom?’_

_‘She will be a good Queen.’_

_‘You must be smarter.’_

_‘I am loyal to my beloved Joffrey.’_

‘Why now? Why?’ _Why her?_ the question she had dared on Tyrion while looking at him and the Dragon Queen upon the beasts, over Winterfell, their home, had finally been answered, its taste bittersweet on her tongue. 

‘Because I’m alive,’ his voice was sure, soothing, almost happy. ‘Because I want it,’ he added truthfully, violently so. ‘After all the denial and deprivation…’ he trailed off only for a moment. ‘I want it all, the kingdoms… the power… you.’ Jon’s last word and his slightest lean towards her had Sansa finally wrenching herself from his tender hold. 

Stepping back, breathless, hazed, confused and with a clarity she hadn’t had in years. Her eyes still locked in his. Her hand moved on its own accord against her furiously beating heart, willing to calm it, stop it from bleeding afresh from the old wounds, to accept their healing. The new wounds inflicted upon it as festered and deep as the old ones. 

Without a word more, Sansa turned and started walking towards the Red Keep. Her legs carrying every step mechanically, granting her the much needed distance between them. Her direwolf tailed her like a shadow but she didn’t hear the footsteps of the beast or the echo of the people returning from the dragonpit; filling the tunnel further back . 

She only took notice of the hot tears that fell upon her cheeks, the gasps of breath that tore through her lungs. 

Leaving Jon behind, unable to turn around and look at him. Knowing what she would find there if she did. She knew, she had been left behind before. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh! that escalated quickly!  
> if you expect a love-kiss-forgive me fic, you're in the wrong neighbourhood, guys!  
> what do you think???? they sliced and cut and tore at each other and they opened up and paid for it! and poor Ghost is simply desperate to do his job! I feel so much for the wolfie! we jonsa shippers are Ghost, watching but unable to actually interfere lol  
> the equation is working, comments lead to inspiration that leads to updates, thank you ALL for the comments, the pms, the kudos, the tumblr love you are showing this!  
> you can find me here christinapotter09.tumblr.com  
> I can't wait to hear your thoughts!


	8. Jon IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, everyone, I'm so very happy you enjoyed the previous chapter  
> the quarantine is being lifted here in Greece and tomorrow I have to go back at work (hairdresser) so I will do my best to update as frequent as possible :)  
> thank you so much!  
> enjoy....

Chapter Eight - Jon

_These violent delights…_

_‘Did it feel good killing the Dragon Queen?’_

Sansa’s words had been etched upon Jon’s mind, a whisper, brushing against his focus, taking it away. 

_‘As good as it felt for me, killing Littlefinger?’_

So she had killed the parasite, of course she had, she was a she-wolf and he had festered their pack. 

_‘Only a fool would trust Littlefinger,’_ She had been placating people way before his turn with Daenerys. 

His hand itched at the memory of gripping the vermin by the throat, shoving Baelish against the wall of the crypts right before his departure for Dragonstone, right after Littlefinger had confessed his love for Sansa. The nights following his departure had been haunted by the idea of Baelish trying to seduce her, the idea of Sansa giving in. Had she? A hot tongue of rage licked at his insides, his mouth going dry, his hand clutching to a fist. 

‘My King?’ Davos was asking, snapping him out of his stupor, his Small Council looking back at him, waiting for a response to something Jon hadn’t heard. ‘What shall we do if our spies send back word of the Dothraki or the Unsullied reforming against us because of your return?’ Davos was obviously repeating his question for Jon to catch up. 

‘Crash them, kill their leaders like I did with Yara before a new war can start.’ his answer was simple, efficient, angry as it still stemmed from his thoughts over Sansa and her unfortunate suitor, and victim. The Small Council kept silent but most of them nodded, Kinvara was also present -after her own insistence- but not participating -after Jon’s command- she watched him with knowing eyes, reading him, he hated it when she did that.

‘Is there anything we need to discuss?’ Jon asked, wishing for the council to finish. It had been days since the execution of Tyrion and he had been consumed by state matters after the crumbling kingdoms he had taken upon. The Lords participating in the Great Council had left for their respective realms -except Sansa- Jon had left Gendry go, for now, when he would finally know of Rickard in detail, he would decide upon burning the young Baratheon or not, for now, it had been enough that Rickard wasn’t Sansa’s child. 

The Lords coming from the newly headless kingdoms would soon arrive at King’s Landing, ready to pledge their support in reward for their ascend to their roles. Bronn would be executed soon, searching through archives and spending history had revealed his crimes as Master of Coin were almost as severe as his crimes as Mercenary. Jon had been easy on his decision, the next day he would take care of the execution, once again publicly, after Kinvara’s lecture on displays of justice. Jon was fine by it, Balerion was to be fed again and Jon prefered the dragon be full with traitors and scummers than cattle or horses. 

Sansa had been absent through every meeting in the past days, although Jon had sent invitations for her. She would have been valuable with her cunning mind, even if she was of the North… She knew the South better than him, damn it he wished to put her in her element, to show her what she meant to him by taking part in his council. She had denied all invitations, staying in her chambers and never coming out of them. And he had let her, despite his discomfort, after their heated confrontation in the tunnel, he knew she needed time to think, to compose herself, just like he did. He needed time to accept all the things valified from her part. He needed time to lick at the wounds she had inflicted upon him and he had to find a plan to open up to her about the past without wounding her further. A dangerous task, considering how hard she bites when in pain or rage. 

The council was dismissed soon after. Jon remained on his seat as the Small Council started emptying the chamber, Kinvara staying behind to Jon’s annoyance. He would have treasured his peace of mind. But it was clear she had something in her own, so he beared with her. 

‘I could make her see, you know…’ Kinvara started as the door was closed and silence tried to fall upon them. Jon’s eyes traveled at her moving form, coming out of the corner, dress dancing around her like scarlet shadows. She would have been attractive, if Jon hadn’t known better. 

‘You won’t go near her, Kinvara…’ Jon’s words were curt, commanding. He had learnt of Melisandre’s actions, of the monsters she had birthed and the fire she had doomed birthed children in. He didn’t care if the God of Light was true or not, probably he was; for bringing him back, probably he wasn’t, for letting his priesthood burn girls at the stake. Kinvara wasn’t Melisandre but she was a fanatic and Jon knew what lengths fanatics could reach for their faith. No, Kinvara believed him when he said he followed the God of Light because she wanted to, because he was the Promised Prince, according to herself. Whatever suited her, as long as she aided him in his rule and she kept away from Sansa. 

‘Or I could make you see…’ Kinvara added enigmatically, causing Jon to frown for a moment stretched before there could be a bang at the door that didn’t startle neither of the two. 

Manfrey Martell was back, flustered and worried as he bowed quickly and gave Jon the piece of parchment he was holding in his hand. 

‘A little girl, disguised as a maid tried to reach the chambers of… Sansa Stark, to give her this. We’ve got the girl and we’re interrogating her.’ Manfrey explained, referring to Sansa without her title, Jon irked at the change but pushed the feeling down. He took the little roll, sealed with a double axe on the wax. House Cerwyn. 

‘Balerion will feast on Bronn and whoever might harm the servant girl during the interrogation, or the ones ordering her abuse, Lord Martell.’ Jon threatened, his Hand nodded quickly and excused himself, probably hoping not to be the meal, depending on the orders he had given. 

Jon remained pensive before the unsealed roll, torn between opening the letter sneaked into the Keep and bringing it to Sansa. He could feel Kinvara’s eyes upon him and the letter he held with two fingers. The letter wasn’t from Winterfell, on her way there, Brienne must had alerted all Northern Houses loyal to their Queen and although he had sent an official response to the North that their Queen would extend her stay, no reply had come from the Northern Capital, his old home, and Sansa had made no move to send a letter with her own seal upon it. Leaving Jon to deal with the North while she remained enigmatically silent, leaving her allies to protest against him, seeing who is as loyal as they claim. She was smart, cunning, political, Jon knew, he also knew a war could break from the North for their Queen. He hoped he would be as ruthless as he was with Yara, yet he knew he wouldn’t, they used to be his own people, they were Sansa’s, she would never forgive him that, and she would never forgive herself for becoming the reason for more Northern blood to be spilt. 

He broke the seal of House Cerwyn, knowing he would face Sansa’s wrath. It was a letter delivered by a spy, a voice very much like Kinvara’s justified in his head, although Kinvara had remained silent. It’s a letter from loyal people to their Queen, another voice, very much like his own hissed back in his head. He willed the voices down as his eyes skimmed over the words before him, a frown etching so deep upon his face, it distorted his features. 

_My dearest, sweetest Queen, I hope this finds you healthy within the Dragon’s claws. Brienne of Tarth bore the news of the Targaryen’s return in Westeros, days before his own letter informed us of your confinement in King’s Landing. The North is ready to declare war if you’re not allowed back in our land. We’ll come with Steel and Winter to bring you back to us, to me. If we don’t have an official note, sent from you by raven, until the New Moon, we are all ready to march South. Lord Glover and I will lead of the march, while Lord Manderly will head to Winterfell, to protect Lord Rickard. As I had promised once, you’re not alone, my Queen, never again._

_Forever yours_

_Cley Cerwyn_

Kinvara’s humming voice had Jon glaring up at her before staring back at the words in the letter. His hand clutching into a fist, crumbling the parchment within his grasp. 

_"If we went down to Castle Cerwyn, I know that Lord-"_

_"We fight with the army we have!"_

The memory of their fight sprang back in his mind, while trying to recruit their most loyal for the fight to take back Winterfell. Where was the fucking bastard back then? 

_“Sweetest Queen”... “dearest”...”back to us, to me.”... “As I had promised, you’re not alone”... “never again.” “Forever yours.”_

He was seeing red, storming out of his chair and out of the chamber, Kinvara choosing wisely to remain silent behind him as he tightened his fist with the parchment within it. Snarling every breath as fire roared within him, somewhere outside of the castle, Balerion screeched and took flight, sensing Jon’s fury, his massive wings flapping powerfully. Jon didn’t care about the upcoming declared war from the North. He would crush them all, fuck old royalties and his sense of belonging there as well as in the South, he would crush them, starting with House Cerwyn. Damn her wrath and her hatred, he had it anyway, he had it while he tried to protect her and he had it when he opened up to her a few days back, and he would have it now too as he reached for her chambers’ door, the guards nervously looking at him, ready to fight against him as he stormed towards them. 

He pushed through them between shouts and threats, shoving the door open and bursting inside. Finding Sansa with a brush full of white fur in her hand and Ghost on all fours, snarling at him, having heard him approach before the commotion at the door could start. Sansa’s eyes were wide at his intrusion, she was dressed in simple grey, hair down her side. Hot tongues of anger licked his insides at the idea of another man winding his hands in that sea of copper, and her allowing the touch, yearning for it, moaning at it. 

‘Ghost,’ Sansa commanded although the direwolf hadn’t moved against Jon as he approached her like an ocean wave ready to crush against rocks. She gestured for her guards to leave them and they did so, heads bowed for not stopping him. ‘What’s the meaning of this?’ Sansa demanded to know as Jon reached her, standing before her with wild eyes, breath coming out in huffs. Inhaling the mint and lavender he had sensed that night he had peaked at her sleeping form. 

‘What’s the meaning of _this_?!’ Jon screamed as he slammed his hand with the parchment on the table by their sides. She didn’t flinch at the ferocity of the movement, setting down the brush and reaching for it, knowing deep down he wouldn’t hurt her. She did know, didn't she? He watched her as Sansa picked up the crumbled parchment and her blue eyes moved from sentence to sentence before they could climb to his. Awareness, worry, fear were there, all shining through her icy gaze. 

‘If you don’t let me go, the North will declare war on you.’ Sansa’s words had him huffing, she was completely missing the point, _his_ point. He ached to slam his hand at the table again, he didn’t, knowing she would raise all the walls around her. Instead, he gripped the parchment -ignoring the spark at the contact with her skin, her gasp as she felt it too- and waved the parchment before her face. 

_‘This…_ This is not a letter from a loyal Lord to his Queen…’ Jon hissed angrily. Sansa stared at him for a moment without reacting, only watching him, he hated how she could see right through him, he knew she could pierce through the anger and frustration, the jealousy, the fury, the fear. God he hated how her expression changed from a panicked one to that of sick satisfaction within heartbeats. 

‘No, it is not.’ Sansa confirmed, voice steady, causing an icy blade to penetrate the hot brew in his stomach. ‘It’s the letter of a young man loyal and in love with his Queen…’ Sansa twisted the knife in his insides. ‘It’s the letter of a young man who has laid with his Queen…’ she jerked at the blade and he jerked the parchment away to grasp at her finally. Hands feasting into her hair and back of the neck, tugging, pulling her closer to him, only him and keeping here there forever if he could help it. 

‘Stop…’ his voice was heavy coming from his lips, a mere inch away from hers. Sansa’s eyes drifted close for a moment as the atmosphere between them blazed. Only this time, she seemed as if she was breathing them -him- in, absorbing every moment, feasting at his turmoil. 

‘Does it hurt?’ she asked in a whisper, opening her eyes to bore into his, just like she had done in the tunnel, filling his dreams with her questions. ‘Knowing I took him in my bed? Knowing he had me in our home?’ Her voice was warm poison in his throat, shoved down. He tugged harder with a pained gasp and she almost moaned at him, his knees going weak as she smiled at him. ‘Just like you did with the Dragon Queen… after luring her in Winterfell.’ Gods, she had all the weapons to annihilate him and she was using them. 

‘I did it to protect you, to pacify her,’ Jon’s admission was painful, a confession torn out of him scarlet and forced. He would pay again and again for his sins, Sansa would make sure of it. No matter if he wanted to have a long conversation for her to understand, it would be torture and he feared he would end up on his knees after all, only before a very different Queen, his true one. 

‘And I did it because I was lonely, and he was willing and _there_...’ she snapped back, this time angrily. She hated the truth, he could see, it hurt her, it scared her and she was seeking to hurt and scare him too. ‘I was lonely because you left,’ Sansa added angrily, her lips still a breath away. ‘Again and again… For Dragonstone, for the South, for the Wall… you kept leaving and at the end, I thought you left for good so I tried to move on.’ Sansa added, willingly slipping the truth. 

‘Was your attempt worth it?’ Jon challenged her, terrified to hear the positive answer, equally famished for a negative one. Sansa’s smile was smug, but not genuine. 

‘He’s declaring war on you, isn’t he?’ her answer was not straight. Jon smirked, his eyes darting to her parted, gasping lips. How would they taste, like wine or lemon cakes that she loved so much? He wanted to know, he wanted to be the only one knowing. 

‘I will take him down,’ Jon threatened against her lips, their hot breaths brushing against their faces. Sansa huffed a bitter laugh, unafraid, infuriating him. ‘I will crush them all for thinking on declaring war, after you and Bran tore my kingdoms apart.’ Jon was desperate to make her see, _feel;_ a fraction of what he was feeling. She was feeding on him and he needed to bite back at her.

‘Will you burn them all?’ Sansa asked for confirmation, voice hoarse, angry, he could see where she was going; he let her. ‘Like Aerys, your grandfather?’ She pushed further, he let her tear at him, in a cathartic though twisted way; he needed the crimes of the Targaryens counted down, so he could reckon with them, embrace them like he had embraced himself as the last heir of the dynasty. Sansa would be the initiator of his catharsis.

‘Like Aegon the Conqueror, the Dance of Dragons, your sweet aunt… your coin would be more and the same?’ Sansa’s voice was hard as steel, he nodded to himself, only then realising she was physically clawing at his chest, her nails digging through the fabric of his jerkin painfully. His hands flexing, full with her hair and the nape of her neck, traveling down to her arms, keeping her there as she clawed at him. ‘I had thought you as someone better than all of them… In a way, I restored you to your name, _Aegon_ ,’ his true name felt like fire coming from her lips, igniting fury inside him. 

‘You betrayed me!' Jon seethed, his grip tightening, this time painfully, he knew. She barked a laugh only a she-wolf would dare before him, his blood was humming in his temples.

'Did I?' Sansa asked in mockery, ignoring the irongrip around her arms, she had felt worse, he knew. 'The difference between us isn't big, Aegon.’ Another lash at the sound of the name, he flinched. ‘It's simply that while I tamed my demons, yours tamed you and-' her words were cut off by his lips in a bruising kiss that stole their breaths away. 

Lemoncakes, wine, heaven and hell, that was the taste, just as he had imagined it. Sansa responded for a moment only, a brush of her tongue against his, her intoxicating taste shooting a shiver down his spine before her teeth could bite hard on his lower lip and break the kiss with a gasp of anger, at him, at herself, he wasn’t sure as they stared wildly at each other. 

Of what he was sure was the glimpse of the wolf on her ring, as she raised her hand and this time he allowed her to slap him hard across the face.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OUCH! I mean YEAH! I mean Right?!  
> Some of you wished for Sansa to have something with someone in the four years in between these chaps and the end of season 8 and I had it in mind too, like sorry D&D but my girl deserves all the good in the world and she won't be the loveless Queen, despite what she's been through in season 6, we see she feels love and jealousy and care and need and compassion and anger so excuse me for not dooming her in a lonely life just because the pack decided to fuck off in the 4 horizons...  
> as for Jonny boy.... oh how it hurts when your own medicine is shoved down your throat huh?  
> we had the kiss of the summary and this time the SLAP  
> sorry for the cliffhanger, I'm evil and it's 2 am and I must go to bed because tomorrow I go back to my mundane life and I had to vent my frustrations through it all and in general...  
>   
> (yes I learnt to use gifs and image html code, no I'm not gonna stop lol)  
> love you all, stay safe, stay healthy, love you all!!!


	9. Sansa V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First week back at work was crazy, I just can't with people, I couldn't before and I can't now with COVID19, only through your love and support, I was able to make this today because yesterday I had to recover from my body pains and I simply drifted off to sleep on the couch with my laptop and notes in my lap.  
> I love you for loving the story, I understand you for feeling frustrated over some aspects in it, please keep calm and let me explore this :) we still have many chaps to go.

__

_Chapter Nine - Sansa_

_...have Violent Ends._

The sound of impact still echoed in her ears, Jon’s face had snapped on the side from her strike, he slowly turned and looked at her, his hand never reaching for his cheek. His eyes clouded, expectant, vibrant with emotion.

Getting physical had never been easy to Sansa, not after Joffrey and Ramsay, in any way, but he stirred every emotion she had struggled to kill inside her. She had struggled to freeze her heart and raise walls around her as strong as the ones of Winterfell. Yet, Jon came crashing through them and snatched Sansa out of her hiding place, he knew well where to look and she hated him for still having such strength, never taken; to her immense pain, but given by herself instinctively.

_We need to trust each other. We can’t fight a war amongst ourselves._

Her lips still tingled from this new kiss, so unlike that on her forehead back then.

Ale, cinnamon and warmth, fire, his taste intoxicating.

They remained silent, still before each other, her palm stinging from the slap, the sun gushing through the windows so hursh from what they had been used to as dim light in the North. Revealing them in a new light, maybe truer than ever. Unsatisfied, unsettled, exhausted and for the first time scared, not of him, but of what they had both become and how they would find a way through.

That familiar scar over his brow, eyes she knew ever since she was a child, so familiar, so close. The dragon’s screech from outside brought that image into focus, revealing it for its distorted and twisted truth. Alien, changed, unknown, exciting.

‘Do you expect me to slap you back? To harm you?’ his words made her shiver. ‘No, Sansa… I promised you something, a lifetime ago.’ Jon added and she remained speechless, he remembered, he had admitted to her, in his stupid, enigmatic way. ‘That promise still stands.’ he added and Sansa wondered at what cost.

‘Oh does it now?’ she found her voice or it found her and gave the challenging question. ‘By keeping me here? A hostage, when you know what happened to me?’ Sansa asked, voice trembling with anger. She wanted to go back to the North, away from him, from the feelings he stirred inside her. She needed to go back to her life, to Rickard, to what she had -for the first time-built for herself before he could stay inside her long enough to devastate it all and take it away once again.

She couldn’t go into war against him, her people didn’t deserve to burn, get fed to his dragon or die by his newly claimed armies. He once had challenged Ramsay into a duel as to spare thousands. She wished she could fight him now, on her own, only she didn’t know how to yield a sword like Arya and though Cersei had taught her to use all of a woman’s weapons. Sansa knew using those kind of weapons would be as dangerous for her as for him, as sharp and lethal.

‘If I let you back North, they will certainly declare war once you’re with them. Northmen are known for fighting over honour…’ his words felt so strange, speaking of the people who once pledged for him. ‘The North was part of the Seven Kingdoms, and I intend for it to be once again…’ he added enigmatically, making her shiver. She had bled for the North, she pushed _him_ to fight over Winterfell when he had been reluctant, she had brought armies to defend it, used all her influence and manipulation to save it. She had endured torture and pain within its walls, standing in her Home while monsters festered it. No one would take it away from her, not even Jon. He was keeping her there for leverage, she wasn’t unfamiliar of her importance and the reasons she was being held. ‘I wish you could forgive me for keeping you here,’ his words echoed in her head, distant though honest, forced yet void of base as he knew she wouldn’t. She could see right through him.

‘I asked you once to forgive me and you did…’ she reminded him, sharing bad ale, searching for their way into the world and where would they go... ‘When I asked you to forgive me again, you didn’t…’ Sansa’s voice was replaced by a whisper, pained and bleeding. ‘I shall be as merciful now,’ she added, remembering the words over the North, the tightening of his arms around her, the sting of tears in her eyes for him taking away his forgiveness and his mercy. Coming back a man changed; on a dragon who ate people and kept her prisoner in that golden cage once again.

‘What is he to you?’ she wished his question surprised her, but it didn’t. He pushed on his own new questions while she had been left with ages-old ones from his actions during the war.

 _‘I did it to protect you, to pacify her’._ This was not enough, not nearly.

_‘Who manipulated whom?’_

_‘A Targaryen father and a Stark mother,’_

Ghosts of the past, speaking a truth never verified to her. Whispers that unhinged her sanity little by little, always letting her alone to deal with the implications. Fury sparked within her, she wanted to slap him again and tear at him, kill him with her bare hands and all that she cursely felt for him still.

They were tangled between their feelings and all that they represented, great Houses, Kingdoms, a war amongst each other would devastate everything, thousands would die for it.

‘What was Daenerys to you?’ She challenged again, pushing further, childishly yet in a way answering, if he was truthful. The only way was the exhausting one. ‘Truly, when you lay with her… you did it for me? You even pictured me while you were fucking her?’ her voice getting colder, harsher, she took sick satisfaction at the shame that flickered in his eyes, the truth bleeding out of his expression, he had. That old, familiar face of solemn silence. He was still there, buried deep within the scaled armor he had claimed for himself.

Jon approached her angrily, once again, unable to control his feelings, unable to tame his demons indeed, at least not when it concerned her. The time of him staying put and distanced because he couldn’t deal with Sansa was over, and she was glad. He still had the power to steal her breath away, but she still had powers over him too, of that she was sure and glad.

‘Answer me, Sansa!’ he demanded and this time she didn’t laugh at him, provoke or challenge him, he was almost upon her and she had the perfect opportunity. Bite, bark, scream and kick, _feel_ after so long staying silent among her ghosts.

‘No! You answer me!’ she found herself screaming, unable to hold back. The dam had been broken and his shield of furious demand wouldn’t save him. He could land from the sky on a fucking dragon, he could keep her prisoner in that fucking city and he could keep her there until she died -and she could make quick job of it for that matter- but answers would follow Sansa Stark in her grave. ‘You answer me about it all!’ she screamed.

‘You feel betrayed? You think I wanted to reveal your true name? After you made me vow on something I had no idea the importance of?’ Sansa was billowing, causing Ghost to growl but remain idle before her storm, she could protect herself.

‘And yet, you vowed,’ he admitted quietly, something very close to realisation flicking in his eyes, Sansa smothered the need to comfort him over the hurt crossing his face.

‘Because we’re family!’ she spat back at him the words he had thrown at her in frustration when she had tried to reason with him back then. He now nodded slowly, his silence causing her to scream more. ‘Families talk to each other, families look at each other in the eyes when they reveal things to each other, Jon!’ she kept screaming, pouring out of her one more betrayal she had suffered.

‘You think I wanted to jeopardise you? Give you the name that would send you either to your grave by Daenerys or to the throne and the place I hated so much? Away from _me_ , away from the North and our family!? You left me no choice!’ she was losing composure as fast as Jon had before her.

‘You have all the reasons and I have all the questions and I swear, if you don’t tell me the truth, right now, Jon Snow or Aegon Targaryen or whatever you wish to be named; I will either throw myself over the highest tower of this fucking Keep and leave you to deal with the North marching down on you anyway, or I will find a way to escape back there and leave you where you so eagerly wish to rule over the ashes House Tararyen created!’ She was confused, scared, tired, conflicted over who he had been and who he was now, over what she wanted about him after four years of thinking him dead.

He had a dragon and armies of Six Kingdoms, she had seen with her eyes how hard the freefolk fought for him, when he asked. She would never bring war in her lands. She was being irrational and she knew it. She would never let the Northmen fight against him, she would keep them safe, at all costs, it was her duty, but she wanted to terrorise him, she wanted the North to come and claim their Queen. The Queen who had tried so hard for their survival and freedom, despite their reoccuring change of allegiance ever since her time as Lady Bolton and later on as Lady Stark.

Sansa wanted to be loved by her people and she wanted to be loved by Jon. She wanted to lay waste on everything and keep everyone safe and intact. Gods, he was awakening each and every feeling within her at once, each treasonous plan and every protectiveness she had ever felt over them all, over him. She had been a little bird and a wolf, she was both and neither now.

His silence infuriated her further, causing her to shove him with her hands against his jerkin clad chest, the dragon embled there causing her to shiver. The memory of the furs she had sewed for him with the Stark symbol on the binding stole her breath away, forcing her to shove at him again.

‘Answer me!’ she screamed hysterically; she was beyond the point of caring. She had remained still for far too long and only now that she moved, she realised how tight her chains had been bound around her. ‘Why did you kill Daenerys?’ she was screaming the question. ‘Tyrion said it was because of me, is it the truth?’ her question had his eyes widening momentary, half answering.

There, the ice was cracking, at last. He had been summoning for her for days but she never reached him. Never expecting him to burge into her chambers and scream at her about Cley Cerwyn. He would first give her all that he had and only afterwards, she would decide if he was to have his own answers.

‘It was because of you.’ he answers plainly, extinguishing the complicated thoughts from her head. He had allowed her to slap him and shove him away from her. He was opening up and all of a sudden, Sansa felt spent, empty, not ready to take the truth she had been craving. ‘She wanted to spread distraction across the world, she wanted to reach Winterfell, of course she would, she would make sure to see you burn. She confessed to me people wouldn’t get to choose, meaning you wouldn’t live for long. And I killed her, for you and the world you lived in.’ His words left her speechless once again, staring at him as Jon was moving closer again, his hands reaching for her forearms, this time gently.

‘She was your Queen…’ Sansa’s voice formed the words, remembering how he defended Daenerys Targaryen to her.

‘But you were my love…’ he was confessing, opening the oldest wound of them all, that of forbidden, hidden love between thought half-siblings. ‘And you had to be protected.’ he was adding but she couldn’t possibly focus there, not yet, not without cleaning the tainted blood covering it, their blood.

‘Even when it was just the two of us in a room. You kept claiming she would be a good Queen.’ Sansa added, calmly, voice gruff from the previous screaming.

_‘Do you have any faith in me at all?’_

_‘She’s not her father,’_

_‘No, she’s much prettier,’_

‘With people like Varys at her service, we were never truly alone, Sansa.’ Jon’s expression was sincere, the man she knew, the man she trusted with her life, the man she loved with her heart. ‘I had to protect you, even if you didn’t want me to, even if you had told me to stop trying… You were wrong, no one can protect anyone...I could protect you and I would…’ his words felt final, his hands abandoning hers, she missed the contact, his touch. He made a step back, unsure before he could make the first step to leave. She grabbed his arm, unable to be left like that again. If he thought she wouldn’t be able to take the truth, the whole truth, he was mistaken.

‘You’re not going anywhere,’ Sansa demanded, Jon’s eyes traveled down to where she had grabbed his arm, pulling him back like she once had done in Winterfell.

_‘You’re good at this… at ruling,’_

‘Sansa… this is not the- I don’t wish to harm you more-’ he was cut off by her angry response.

‘The North is about to declare war on you and I’m right here, giving you one chance to tell me the truth over it all. This is precisely the time, Jon.’ Sansa this time was icy calm, braced for it all, calling him by the name she knew and loved, not the name given to him at birth, reclaimed and poised by his new standards. ‘Don’t underestimate me, you won’t find me in these chambers again, if you leave now. I swear. I will either be at the bottom of the Keep, having jumped from the highest Tower or on my way to Winterfell… I have escaped from this place before, I can do it again.’ Sansa was warning him and she could see the fear in his eyes, the fear of losing her, to the North or the hands of the Stranger, she would be the judge of that and she was glad he had no say in it concerning her fate even though he believed he could keep her there.

He slowly nodded, she could see the remorse in his eyes, the guilt and pain. Cracking her own demeanor, she fought back the tears at what was coming next. She took a deep breath, releasing his arm.

‘Alrigh’ he mumbled as he nodded once again and took her hand in his. Gently, treasuring her fingers with his touch, brushing his calloused fingers over her soft skin and the direwolf on the seal of her ring.

‘Swear to me you’ll try not to hate me, swear to me you won’t harm yourself or leave.’ she had broken vows to him before. Yet, there he was, asking again in good faith she would keep her word this time.

‘I swear,’ she echoed her words from the past, in the Godswood, before Bran and Arya. She wished with all her heart she wouldn’t be an oathbreaker again.

‘You were awful to me indeed,’ his eyes steady on hers, wanting to see her reactions. His words surprised her, recalling their young years. ‘But I loved you, you wanted to be a princess and you wished for prince Aemon the Dragonknight, so I tried to be that one, for you. We were raised away from each other, in distance. I was both glad and scared, if you were as close as Arya, the vile Bastard in me would want more, but I longed for you to be closer, to be kinder and affectionate.’ Sansa was left muted, watching him unravel everything.

‘I hated Joffrey, I hated that Lady was killed. I hated your father for killing her. I hated Winterfell if you were not to be there. I hated the place, a pariah, alone, while all of you left. I decided to leave too and I decided to go as far away from you as possible, to find a purpose, to bind myself from loving a woman and fathering children, I had a taste of everything in Winterfell then no right to own a thing. And you were promised for greatness…’ Jon added and Sansa remained silent, her hand still within his grasp, their gazes locked.

‘Father died and I wanted to join Robb and come rescue you and Arya but they reassured me you would be treated gently…’ the sad scoff pained her more than any of the harassment she had endured in Joffrey’s gentle treatment. ‘I moved beyond the wall, fought my own battles, did what I thought was right… got murdered for it. And until my last breath, I hoped I died for a purpose… Traitor in the eyes of traitors…’ Jon mused and Sansa remained silent. She had cared to know what he had been through beyond the Wall, while they traveled the North to recruit people for reclaiming Winterfell. Back then, he hadn’t been ready to answer and she hadn’t pushed him to tell her. He had avoided the questions and she had remained silent.

‘When I was brought back, I realised there was no purpose at all…’ Jon added, looking at her with a hollow expression she hated upon his face. ‘Until the gates of Castle Black opened and you moved inside on your horse. Dismounting, looking so tired and scared and cold, searching for familiarity and protection around the courtyard. I knew you were searching for me, the first person to search for me in a long time. The last person I could expect.’ Jon’s voice was soft, she had missed it. She drank in the memories, the truth in them.

‘I wrapped my arms around you and despite all we had been through, you felt like home, warm and sweet and so very good. You felt so good against me, Sansa.’ Jon’s voice was dropped into a whisper that made her shiver as he moved a step closer, she remained idle, his hand keeping hers. ‘And I hated myself for it. All those old feelings over my own sister. My sweet sister who had been through Hell already. I couldn’t let more harm come your way. You wanted Winterfell, I would give it to you, you wanted the world, I would give it to you. But first, I had to protect you from it. From a world full of enemies and the Long Night approaching. My purpose was to protect you even if I would die trying.’ he added, his other hand reaching for her cheek.

‘I terrorised Baelish to stay away from you right before I could leave for Dragonstone. What I encountered there had me following your lead. I was being smarter. I needed the Dragonglass and the Dragons and she was willing to burn people and supplies at the Reach… she did, as an act of aggression and example for the rest. She burnt Sam’s family. I decided to placate her, after my initial reaction to her monstrosities and theoretic pride when she was burning people for not kneeling. I decided to use her,’ Jon explained quietly, his hand flexing against Sansa’s cheek and jaw, where he held gently. ‘And yes, I laid with her in my effort, shodding my honour, trying desperately to get over you, over the sin of loving and wanting you.’ he confessed, causing Sansa’s eyes finally to drift close at the confession. ‘And yes, I pictured you while I was in bed with her, because I failed at forgetting you but I succeeded in bringing her North. She kept saying it was my war, failing to see that it was supposed to be her war too, a war over the humanity she so desperately wanted to break free from the wheel. She kept saying she fought my war so I could have the burden of the casualties. But I endured, because you were at the stakes.’ Jon was giving her every answer and Sansa struggled to keep up with everything she had suspected, feared and hoped.

‘I had thought you’d placate her too, pacify her until we were done.’ Jon added, this time a sad smile gracing his seemingly older than it was face. ‘But you were angry, fortified, empowered by Arya, even Bran… the entire North. A Queen in everything but name. And I had filled our home with traitors, beasts and enemy armies to fight the Night King.’ Jon added in a bittersweet way, bringing their joined hands close to his heart, Sansa allowed him.

‘She knew, you stood out to her as a great threat. She kept threatening you, obsessing over you and the power you held over the North, over me. And I tried to pacify her, with my words, in my bed. Anything to keep her distracted but you kept pushing and she kept reacting. Focusing on you as she realised I was right when I had told her my people wouldn’t accept a Southern ruler… Because I had told her, Sansa, from the first moment, I had, you must believe me. At first, I tried to push back but then I realised I had to change tactics or we would all die.’ Jon begged this time and only then, Sansa felt her head nodding on its own accord.

‘I believe you,’ she reassured in a whisper and the relief sweeping over his face had her exhale the breath that had been trapped in her own lungs.

‘When I saw you coming out of the crypts, shaken but alive. I just wanted to run and hug you, like when I returned from Dragonstone, or even better when you came to me in Castle Black.’ Jon confessed, smiling sadly, Sansa’s eyes filled with tears at the sheer truth of his words. ‘I had learnt of my parents. I wanted to tell you, I wanted you to know and be happy over your father never betraying Lady Catelyn and I wanted to lift myself from the burden of sin and pain every time I wrapped my arms around you… The Night King was gone but the Dragon Queen was there, watching, mourning over her fallen allies and friends, infuriated and pained at the lack of love. I couldn’t provoke her more. She lacked love from everyone and I had love only for you, I couldn’t rub it in her face while her children circled our home.’ Jon’s words were honest, pained, shameful.

‘I knew, despite my silence and distance, I knew you believed in me still. When you told me so at the feast, I was the happiest and proudest man alive… But I felt her eyes upon us, so I turned my back at you, shielding you, smiling at her only to keep her eyes away from you.’ Jon recalled the night of the feast following the battle. Sansa nodded her head, remembering the stab of pain as he had turned his back at her, back then, she had taken the action as neglect. ‘But I told her I would speak to you. I didn’t want her to think you spied on the truth, or you would be executed before dawn for it. And I lost sleep every night, afraid you’d be dragged outside Winterfell by the Unsullied, in the middle of the night, burnt to ashes before I could be there to stop her and save you.’ Jon’s eyes clouded with fear, lost in the memories of his struggle.

‘Jon…’ she tried, maybe she should have been smarter, she thought she had been. She thought he had changed so very much, beyond recognition, back then, but who would recognise _her_ when she bent and kissed Joffrey’s sword, meant to kill his enemies, even Robb. They had both won and lost the Great Game.

‘Please, let me finish,’ Jon’s voice was pleading but had a scorn in them too. ‘You wanted the truth and I kept it in for far too long. It ate at us for long enough.’ he added, reaching even closer, his forehead resting against hers. She closed her eyes for the last part, unable to keep eye contact over the last piece, maybe the hardest.

‘When the time came, I couldn’t jeopardise you, if she won -like she did- you would still be in danger, if she didn’t, Cersei would be upon you... But you deserved the truth, I was a coward for not telling you myself. I had lost myself, Sansa, I didn’t recognise the man in my mirror. I had Bran telling you because I couldn’t utter the words while looking at you. I was afraid of what I would see if I told you…’ Jon added, his voice desperate, a tortured expression on his face, she knew if she opened her eyes. ‘You had once told me you would kill yourself than go back to Bolton. And I had decided to die in the war. I had lost my honour, I had harmed you enough, I had bent the knee and sold myself over to a tyrant to keep her down. At least, if both she and Cersei died, you would be safe, my second chance at life wouldn’t have been wasted completely.’ Jon added and this time Sansa opened her eyes, unable to keep silent.

‘Jon, how could you think-’ his finger on her lips hushed her gently. A deep frown carved into his face, his own eyes closed, unable to look at her now either.

‘The city fell, little children burnt… it fell after it had surrendered… The bells…’ Jon was pausing through the sentences, face screwed in painful memories. Sansa had sunk to her own knees at the devastating image of the city as she had aided Arya, years ago. She couldn’t possibly imagine the scene unfolding. No matter how much she hated King’s Landing and the memories coming with it, she had never wished for such fate on thousands, that city’s fire had engulfed her enemies but also many people dear to Sansa’s heart. ‘And she was triumphed… happy, ready to come after you and the rest of the world.’ Jon was adding, Sansa’s own free hand moved to his chest, over his heart, wishing she could somehow aid him, take the pain away as he poured everything festering it for so long.

‘Arya found me and I told her to go to the city’s edge and wait for me, but then I realised there was no escape, I wouldn’t be back to you fast enough to save you, only long enough to put your burnt remains in the crypts of Winterfell and I couldn’t let that happen. You were to live no matter what, the best out of all the Starks, half or full, you were the future of House Stark and the future of the North. Only if you were kept safe, even away from me, you would make it.’ Jon added and Sansa remained silent as he opened his eyes finally, finding her eyes already upon his, he was tired, exhausted, spent, just as she was.

‘So I killed her, to put an end to it all.’ Jon confessed finally, repeating his words from before. ‘So you would live in a world safe and peaceful.’ He added, of the rest, she was aware, and so was he.

Sansa remained silent for a few more heartbeats. Unable to utter a word as she took him in, with her eyes and her hands, his smell and his touch upon her skin. He was the same man she had trusted with her life, twisted and bent, like herself, but he was there, within her grasp.

Sansa leaned in, clawing into his jerkin, the hand held by his; traveled to his neck as this time, she kissed him, to seal the truth revealed, to soothe the wounds or open new ones, she wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she deserved that kiss more than anyone in his life.

Jon responded eagerly, pushing his tongue past her lips, wrapping his arms around her, in her hair, roaming down her back and waist, tugging her against him as the room at last fell silent of their voices and filled with the sound of their kiss, the moans at the back of their throats. Ghost remained silent, lowering his massive head as his eyes kept watching them.

When the kiss was broken, they remained wrapped in each other’s arms, unable to distinguish where one began and the other ended. A kiss that should have been shared a lifetime ago, a kiss that somehow had to bridge the worlds apart in which they belonged.

‘After you tell me your own piece of the truth...You’re free to go North.’ his words had her focusing harshly on him. The challenge to open up, once again, to reaffirm what he already knew, what she had already shown him back then, again and again though her actions. The taste of freedom was bitter, right there for her to take and run. He was letting her go, again.

Back home, back to her people, _their_ people, the lands she bled for, the lands he died for and saved from the Night. Back to Rickard, back to ruling a kingdom, stopping it from shedding blood over a Targaryen and a Stark war once again.

‘No…’ she whispered against his lips, causing him to sharply focus on her as well. Their bodies screamed of warmth and need, of passion and love, fitting against each other as if they had been born for each other. But their eyes spoke a different story, a tale of pride and reconciliation. ‘I haven’t forgiven you for your actions and I haven’t explained or been forgiven for mine.’ Sansa added, holding him to her, tugging him closer, he wouldn’t leave her again, and she wouldn’t go alone.

‘Come with me, North, prove yourself the King you wish to be.’ Sansa dared him. Being everything she needed him to be for herself wouldn’t be enough, he also had to be good for everyone, for the people. He had been alone for far too long with his beast and that red priestess, the world didn’t work like that. He wanted it all, he had to take it, claim it as he had declared to her. She had been Queen for longer than he ever had been King, he had to learn.

‘Show yourself and let your kingdoms know you, reach the North and give them the right to decide if they want you after all, and if they do accept you as their King once again, I will abdicate my Crown and the North’s Independence…’ Her words were coming between them, steady, calm, setting new boundaries, opening new paths for them, paths leading home.

‘You will become King of the Seven Kingdoms as it was your right from the beginning…’ Sansa’s words were met by his silent turmoil, Sansa smiled at Jon.

Sansa Stark and Aegon Targaryen had never asked for their crowns, yet; circumstances and each other’s words and actions had forced crowns on their heads.

They would either find balance or the kingdoms would drown in fire and blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for reading!!!!! Oh Sansa she found the only way for her to go to the North safely... and this is with Jon by her side after what happened. and Jon needs to become more than what Kinvara or Targ haters would expect him to be, a madman with a dragon in KL, going to punish whoever is going to react to him... lets see if he will accept the challenge.  
> I hope you liked the start of the chapter with Sansa finally snapping and screaming her head off, I think she kept stoic long enough... and she sees through Jon so snapping back and forth would come to an end for them to finally speak as normal as they can  
> I decided that Jon would speak to Sansa in her pov and Sansa will speak to him in his...  
> as I said before, this is not a kiss-forgive fic but we can have kisses can't we?  
> thank you all for reading, supporting, criticising the story so far, I hope you enjoyed this :) all of you, stay safe and let me know what you think :)  
> until next time....  
> 


	10. Jon V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) THANK YOU for your love with this here and in tumblr, thank you so much!  
> 2) sorry for scaring some of you into thinking this story ended, it wasn't my intention, this story has many chapters to go :)  
> 3) someone asked me which song comes to my mind with this story, well I have a playlist with heart wrenching songs that I listen to when I write the chaps but I would say Fiction by Echos and NFWMB by Hozier.  
> 4) I love you all for reading and supporting this!

Chapter Ten - Jon

_Forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it._

‘You mean that?’ Jon asked almost in a whisper, still holding Sansa in his arms, her own arms lingered around him. They had been away from each other for years, his heart screamed to believe her, to accept her words, but his mind… his mind raced with second thoughts and fear.

‘That I will abdicate?’ her eyes were honest, cutting into his doubts, her voice still hoarse from her screaming. ‘I meant it that day on the dock, Jon. The North lost their King and I-’

‘That you want to go North, with me,’ Jon made his point clear, for those sweet moments that time had slowed, no kingdoms existed and no politics, no continent divided in two, only him and her and the prospect of seeing the North once again. The North he was ready to destroy a few hours ago, because of her, the North he had died for, for her.

_‘Until I return… the North is yours._

_‘I chose the North,’_

Sansa’s eyes softened, just like the rest of her body did in his arms, he memorized every soft curve and valley in his arms, wondering for a moment;how they would feel without her clothes on. His mind raced, just like his heartbeat, hope was tearing its way through the past years of his turmoil along his desire for her, his need.

‘I do mean it,’ Sansa’s words were soft, understanding, knowing him, well enough to slap him, well enough to encourage him even with her eyes, those eyes that had looked hard on him time and time again, back in the past years, and in the past days. ‘You ventured South in time of war…’ she added and he nodded. ‘It would help you -and the people- if they saw their King now, the Targaryens haven’t left a good name for ruling, especially the last ones… although I should admit, it’s not that Bran Stark was the most beloved either…’ she admitted, Jon couldn’t help but sigh and brush her cheek with his finger.

‘Why you’re helping me with this? A few days ago, you were shocked and angry.’ Jon couldn’t help but be honest with Sansa, the only person he could open up to, as if in reflex. Her mind was always so very complicated. She looked at him with that familiar pointed look he couldn’t help but adore.

‘Maybe because I had you for dead for the past years and you landed on an armored dragon… followed by a red priestess like the one you had exiled at the threat of execution… in the middle of King’s Landing… forgive me for not keeping calm…’ he nodded at her mild sarcasm. He had wished to shock the lords, seize what was his, she had been part of it all, although she hadn’t played his game, standing up to him, as if in reflex. ‘But I should probably thank you for the entrance… Tyrion was planning on promoting me for the throne. You spared me that crown of which I am glad.’ Sansa admitted and Jon could feel she was searching for his reaction at the truth she revealed to him.

‘I know,’ he only said, wishing to avoid mentioning how he knew, she was annoyed by the mere mention of Kinvara, to say the least. ‘That was another reason for my return, I knew they would try, and as far as I know, it would be miserable for you, even dangerous.’ Jon added and Sansa sighed but decided not to push on what revelation Jon had through the flames. She didn’t want to know and there was no reason to push visions on her, Tyrion was dead, she was free and protected and Jon was King.

‘As for your first question,’ Sansa recalled, ‘I’m helping you because I had meant it,’ Sansa looked deep into Jon’s eyes, the truth there unhinged him. ‘I believe in you, despite your dragon and your new clothes, name and advisors… I believe in you.’ Sansa’s eyes dropped to her hand, where she was stroking his jerkin absentmindedly. ‘In the middle of war, I told Tyrion the truth because I hoped he would take down Daenerys, he or Varys, and whether you liked it or not, stubbornly refusing it or not, you would become King, you would be safe in power. But things went downhill and instead of Tyrion or Varys or the war itself, it was you who had to kill her…’ Sansa added and Jon sighed, nodding his head, keeping her close as she spoke her own piece of the truth.

‘I knew, the moment I received word that King’s Landing had fallen, I knew I had to try and bring you back, as King in the North.’ Sansa went on, still looking down at her hand on his chest, he couldn’t help but ask the question that ate at him for the past years, the reason for hating her was slipping through his fingers like water and he struggled to keep it within his grasp. He struggled to keep on that preserving fire of betrayal as it shivered and died at her reasoning.

‘Why didn't you try at the council?’ he asked the question he had wanted to scream at the dock, the question he had wished to write down on letters. The question of which he had known the answer of from the beginning but he had refused to accept in his anger and pain.

‘My father lied to my mother all her life to save you.’ Sansa started, her voice sad, guilty, pained reflecting both people. ‘In a way, puting his sister above all, like you did for me…’ she mused before she could go on, for that moment, Jon felt as if she had thought out loud the parallel. ‘You think I would tell or remind the Dragon Queen’s gathered allies and armies that you’re the Last Targaryen? Your friends remained silent in your defense while Arya and I threatened everyone who wanted your life… It was clear we’d be winners if they spared your life at least. Your enemies would send you to your grave if they were reminded of your parentage, weaponizing the truth of your parentage as motive for murdering their Queen, when you killed her to save the world from her tyranny.’ Sansa’s words were almost whispered, her eyes filling with tears over the failure she felt.

‘And I know, back then, you yearned for your grave, after what happened, I know you, Jon. But Arya, Bran and I, even Tyrion and I’m sure Sam too; wanted you alive, ideally, I wanted you in the North as well.’ Sansa was explaining what had taken place during the council. Jon remained silent to hear, he had a right in that council, taken from him, his fate decided without a chance for him to utter a word over it or his crimes. But what would he have said in the state he had been in? He had wondered for endless nights, if she had tried, if she had thought on how to save him, what he would have screamed and accused them all of.

Now that the truth was out, from her lips at last, Jon felt the truth falling into place, sealing a bleeding gap in his soul. Would he have fought for her crown or her life? He knew the answer, he had not cared for her claim, titles or her place in the North before her survival from the Long Night, hence the dragons and the armies he had brought into their home.

 _‘And a Targaryen Queen!’_ the echo of her cutting words riverbarated in his memory.

‘They decided your fate would be chosen by the new king and Tyrion started pivoting everyone to choose Bran of all people… and they did.’ Sansa sounded exasperated, still in disbelief of how that council had turned out. ‘Davos even admitted he had no idea what he were doing, but they did and I knew, Bran wouldn’t make it for long.’ Sansa’s hoarse voice was breaking, only now realising how short his reign ended up to be. ‘I knew I couldn’t go back North and tell everyone they were to believe in a Broken boy, it’s not in our culture, not in our blood, and Bran acted... was not of our blood at the end….’ she took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, Jon held at her, needing the entire truth.

‘I knew Bran would exile you somewhere familiar, and I had to have that place under my command, for your protection, for your enemies never to reach you again, even if that meant I wouldn’t be able to reach you either.’ Sansa finally looked at Jon in the eyes. ‘To be honest, I did it for my protection too, I was going back there empty handed, alone, I had lost you and Bran, I wasn’t sure Arya would come with me or go to Gendry or wherever she wished to go…Deep down I knew I was going home alone the moment I was entering the Dragonpit with my siblings... and I would be valuable to the North only if I brought back something to fortify me against enemies and suitors. The North had paid such a heavy price, and I had to reward it somehow.’ Sansa’s words left Jon speechless. ‘I had once told you I would reclaim the North myself, if no one else wanted to help me… I know it hurts, but I had been truthful to you despite all my schemes and lies and betrayals and broken vows.’ her voice was breaking, just like his composure and pains.

His need to keep a grudge over her betrayal was collapsing, just like hers had; over his own confession earlier. Years of pain, of distance and unresolved guilt and pain were now dissolving, like morning fog over Winterfell, leaving behind raw yet healing wounds.

‘My actions made you Queen…’ Jon’s admission was mostly to himself than for her but Sansa nodded anyway, the tears finally falling down her cheeks. It stung- deeply- to accept the truth, to share another blame when he had shielded himself behind her actions, but she was right. The Starks had been savaged, from Lyanna down to Sansa, the South had devoured them all, the last one had to return with something more than just her life. She had pushed another crown in his hands, back when he hadn’t wanted it, directly with her actions, and through his, another crown had fallen upon her head.

‘Can you forgive me?’ she echoed her words, unable to hold back, he could see, still in pain for not having his forgiveness back then. He had hoped she had understood his acceptance of hers, though bitter, had been true and trustful, he had known the North would thrive through her love for it, their people would be prosperous, obviously it hadn’t been enough for her.

‘Aye, I forgive you, and I can only hope you do the same with me.’ Jon added, their wounds ran too deep, some of them were still festered, they would need time but he was only glad they had at least that chance in life.

‘I do,’ Sansa simply answered, they sealed their mutual acceptance with another kiss, this time slow and calm, the realisation of having time making them sigh against each other, hands holding on for dear life instead of exploring. ‘We need to trust each other,’ she added as she broke the kiss, echoing his words from the past, the words they both had failed to follow, harming each other so deeply in the process. They would need time and true will to change around each other, for each other.

‘We must,’ he added in agreement, their foreheads touching, eyes semi-closed as the scent of lavender and mint engulfed them both.

_‘She’s not the girl you grew up with.’_

The ghost had been right through her hateful words, so much hate, so many words. No, Sansa wasn’t that naive girl, full of songs and ignorance. No, Sansa was a young woman, a Queen of her own right, powerful, kind, smart, caring. Everything he knew she was all along.

And at very long last, he could look at her in the eyes, he had accepted his share of the world, his role in it, his own fate, they were equals, forgiven, _accepted_ , the vile bastard, the arrogant girl, the crow that lied, the little bird who sang as commanded, a King and a Queen.

Indeed, because of him, they both got to choose what to do with their lives. He had never expected that one chance when he was running the dagger through Daenerys’ heart. Back then he had only hoped he was giving Sansa a chance, and a choice.

‘I’m sorry I commanded you to stay here,’ Jon whispered his shameful apology, knowing she deserved it, knowing how much she had bled for the freedom he had taken from her for the past days. Opening up on his inability to be away from her, she was right there, even if she hated it, and she was showing him the way back home, North. Even if he would have to be in King’s Landing if he wanted to have it all as he had told her. Sansa nodded her head, still so very close to him.

‘I understand, even if I hated it, hated you… I understand.’ Sansa accepted his apology, sighing, her eyes betraying the pain she had felt. He hated he had done to her what her enemies had done before. ‘I need to send a raven to the North…’ she added, snapping both out of their moment, bringing back the truth of their situation. ‘I need to stop them from declaring war.’ her words were turning worried, frantic. He nodded calmly, cupping her face as her eyes travelled up to his once again. ‘Will you come with me?’

A chance, to see some of the kingdoms he wanted to rule over, to be with her, to travel from place to place, like back then, when they got to reintroduce themselves to each other while recruiting forces to take Winterfell back. A chance to see the North once more, maybe reclaim it from its Queen, certainly reclaim _her_ from Cerwyn, to meet little Rickard.

‘I will,’ he would, even if his council disagreed, even if Kinvara would want to follow. He couldn’t miss the chance, he couldn’t miss Sansa. She would reach the North safely, he would face the people there, see if he could have them back on his side, after fighting for them, challenge her love for the land with his own sacrifices for it.

‘Good,’ she smiled and he couldn’t help but smile back, the muscles of his face so rarely doing so. It was so easy to believe her, he had once put his trust in her and she had broken vows, he had been trusted and he had failed her, both forced to betray each other, because of each other. They were at last untangling themselves from the webs of lies and deception they had woven themselves in, they were at last free of it all.

‘Since when?’ he needed to know, the present was cathartic, yet he still needed glimpses of the past, he needed to find their roots. For their future was so unsure, _opportunity_ , that’s what he had needed from the day he was born, now he had it. Sansa’s realisation flickered in those blue oceans, they bravely remained locked on his.

‘During our fight… when I told you I wouldn’t go back to Ramsay alive,’ Jon knew, it was painful for her to call that bastard’s name, yet she did, to explain to him. ‘The moment I told you those words, they were the truth and it had been simple as that. You were part of me, of my life. In a world without you, I wouldn’t live. I had survived him for months because I had forgotten how it was to be loved, to be protected. But after our time together, I was unable to go back to pain, to him…’ Sansa’s words were steady, strong, she had spent time on accepting the ghosts of her sins. ‘And you promised you would be there… and it was right there, the realisation of wanting you to protect me, to love me, the tainted truth of loving the only brother I had left until then…’ Sansa’s words slowly broke, her voice betraying her.

‘I hated myself, I thought Cersei Lannister had twisted me to the point of falling for you like she had for Jamie Lannister… I thought all the twisted monsters who either hurt me or lusted after me had made me in their own image… What my father would think… what Arya and my mother would say...What that young child reaching King’s Landing… that little bird would feel of a woman abused, pained, defiled, kept alive only to breed, feeling something so true and powerful for no one else but her half-brother...I…’ Sansa’s words were lost in a gasp as she fought to fill her lungs with air, Jon knew in instinct to hold her gingerly, allow her to breathe.

‘Sansa…’ he tried to stop her but her own dam had been broken, pouring out all the pain, running him like a river.

‘I didn’t even know if I was capable to love… Do you understand me?’ Sansa asked desperately this time, he did, raised as a bastard, believing all his life he was the fruit of lust and sin instead of love, he understood. ‘I always dreamt of love and all my supposed loves, husbands, suitors and guardians took advantage of me… When I was free, when I tasted care and protection… I translated it into love, and I fell for you, so hard. Hating myself for how good it felt to be in your arms, hating myself for loving you so deeply I preferred to provoke Daenerys Targaryen to fury than seeing her smile directed to you…’ the tears had stopped falling but her voice betrayed all the pain she had stored inside.

Jon pulled her closer, instead of another kiss, he hugged her tightly this time, her body fitting perfectly against his, and Sansa hugged him back, brushing her cheek against his as she loved to do, like back in their first embrace, like their last on the docks, like a wolf would do with her mate.

She was his she-wolf, the Red Wolf, his Sansa.

‘All I ever wanted was for you to be protected, happy, safe,’ I loved you but we couldn’t be, so I just wanted you to thrive.’ Jon whispered, for all the condolence he could offer. ‘I loved you from the beginning, I know how shameful it felt, I know how much it hurt, the guilt, the shame, the dishonor.’ Jon whispered, holding her tightly, he would swear he felt Ghost’s snout against the back of his knee as he heard Sansa’s sniffing, he held onto her, so slender and delicate without the Northern furs around her, so much softer and sweet and utterly his.

‘And all I ever wanted was for us to stay North forever, stay there and never come back here. All I ever wanted was for us to be together, even if we couldn’t be as husband and wife, at least be safe in our home, the two of us.’ Sansa whispered back. ‘If we knew… earlier, sooner.’ she trailed off as Jon pulled her back and looked at her tearful eyes.

‘We do now,’ Jon reassured her, his own voice desperate. ‘We can now,’ he added but Sansa smiled sadly, shaking her head.

‘You came back for the South, for your Kingdoms, the North is ready to declare war on you…’ Sansa counted their hardships. ‘You’re a Targaryen, you have a right to it all, but even if you take the North from me, do not expect me to stay here. I simply can’t.’ Sansa’s whispers cut deep with their truth. ‘As Queen, Wardeness, Lady or simply me, I belong in the North.’ she added and Jon knew she would simply wither and die in the South where her brothers and mother perished, he knew she couldn’t live in King’s Landing, where her father, uncle and grandfather died. The worlds in which they belonged, were only moving further apart.

‘Give me a chance,’ Jon whispered as desperate, ‘give _us_ a damn chance.’ he added, caressing her tearful cheeks. ‘Let me take over the kingdoms, help me to do so and I will turn the world upside down, for us, for you, Sansa.’ Jon’s voice was frantic, pained, she was slipping through his fingers just like her betrayals had. He couldn’t simply escort her to the North and leave her there forever, he couldn’t be separated once again from her, not now that he had all the power in the world.

 _‘Love is the death of duty.’_ Maester Aemon’s words echoed in Jon’s mind, just like in the past. Sansa had been his duty, his love, he would find a balance.

‘How…?’ Sansa whispered in disbelief, he hated the deadend, she was political, he knew it would be hard, he knew he was asking for an impossible way, but he asked all the same.

‘I will find a way, we will, I can’t lose you again, not to Cley Cerwyn, not to anyone.’ Jon’s words were quick, adamant.

‘I am yours and you are mine.’ he had spoken those words before, to another redhead, yet only now they shook his very soul with their truth. Before the right redhead, copper sea in waves, oceanic blue looking at him with tears that tasted of salt and storms past. Sansa nodded her head, gasping through the breath she had kept deep in her lungs.

‘We’ll find a way,’ uncertain, scared, in pain.

‘I promise,’ he did, with all his heart.

Jon could only kiss Sansa to somehow make it better. He could only try and take the pain away, store it all in his own chest, until he found a way not to fail Sansa again, or let that very failure eat him alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter wrote itself I swear and at first I wasn't sure what I wanted for it to have in and then it just burst on its own and became a roller-coaster of emotion. They make baby steps and they encounter mountains these two fools and they need to be smart, political and find ways of communication and understanding as the journey will lead them North indeed (after some things fixed in KL)  
> I hope you all liked it, I needed Sansa to reveal her own side of the forbidden love and guilty feelings, they ran deeper than people would think, just like Jon's honor and sense of family.  
> they stand not only against each other but also for each other, at last. after ten chapters of angst these two are starting to move forward, only to face the entire world....  
> thank you so much!!! through your comments and love, I get inspired to keep the weekly updates although my job is crazy at the moment, thank you, I can't wait to see what you have to say about this in the comments :)


	11. Sansa VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this week has lasted like I dunno, a westerosi winter in the North  
> thank you ALL so much for the comments and personal messages over the story, I adore you all and these weekly updates wouldn't be possible without your support and love for the story!

__

_Chapter Eleven - Sansa VI_

_Any man who says I’m the King is no true King._

The knock on the door had Sansa give pause to Ghost’s brushing, to said direwolf’s immense annoyance.

She was dressed in a black gown -her selected choice one out of need as her stay in King’s Landing had been extended unexpectedly- but she answered the door as one of the guards opened it to reveal Ser Davos giving her a small smile as she set the brush of bristle on the floor. Ghost whined at the lack of attention but relaxed as he sniffed the air and kept his eyes on Davos who remained silent as Sansa stood and tried to dust away the white hairs from the fabric of her dress.

‘Your Grace,’ the older man greeted her with the appropriate title. Sansa smiled at him, appreciating the acknowledgement although he belonged in Jon’s small council.

‘Ser Davos, forgive my… furry appearance.’ Sansa required gently, he smiled wider under his fully white beard and mustache. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?’ she added as he remained silent while she approached the carafe of wine, filling two cups of Dornish Red. Davos kept his hands locked behind his back, dressed in dark grey, his eyes darting at her and nodding his thanks as she offered him one cup, he seemed uneasy.

‘His Grace told me you will abdicate if the North chooses to go back to’im.’ Davos cut to the chase, Sansa nodded, taking a sip from her own cup as she gestured for Davos to follow her on the balcony of her chambers, showing him a chair. It was evident he appreciated the hospitality, his old age making him huff as he sat on the chair opposite Sansa, after she took her own seat.

‘ _If,_ yes… I will abdicate only _if_ my people wish to give away my reign that comes with their independence.’ Sansa confirmed and Davos smiled, knowing the North as he had been a counselor to both Jon and Sansa in the past.

‘You have fortified yor claim, independence and a healthy and strong male Heir ther’ already.’ Davos commented and Sansa smiled.

‘And Jon fully knows about it…’ Sansa confirmed once again, Davos nodded as he drank from his own cup, frowning momentarily, she guessed he preferred ale but he was politely drinking what a Queen offered. ‘Yet, he decided to come North with me, cross most of the Kingsroad for the kingdoms to get to meet him…’ Sansa added, wishing to see what the older man thought of it, she was glad to see admiration in his eyes while other could have condemned the journey. ‘Are you here to request of me to guarantee his safety once he’s moved to my dominion? Because he’s the one with a sword and commanding Drogon, Balerion… the dragon, anyway.’ Sansa’s attempt for humor worked as Davos chuckled and looked at her in the eyes. She was currently the most powerful woman in Westeros, she knew that, and Jon was her equal. Davos was easy company, always had been wise, almost a father figure she had missed during her first moons as Queen in the North.

‘I’m ‘ere first, because he talk’d to me, confined to me first, that he wants to go North. He’ll let his council know tomorrow, along with prepositions on strategic stops along the journey… Harrenhal, Riverrun, then he believes you should pass the Twins and-’

‘Does he know the Twins have been deserted, ever since Winter came for House Frey?’ Sansa’s mention of the place was calm, the Red Wedding had been avenged, by Jon, herself and Arya.

‘Yes, Your Grace, I told’im, he wasn’t surprised to hear. That’s why he prefers Riverrun, where Houses can gather under the hospitality of your uncle, Lord Tully, it’d unify your front no matter’ what happens in the North.’ Davos added and Sansa sipped more of her wine. She nodded her head and smiled, the wine sweet on her tongue. She knew her family would greet Jon with suspicion, she also knew they bent the knee to him all too easily, just a few days prior, while at the dragonpit.

‘And why I’m not hearing all this from Jon himself?’ she asked softly, Davos smiled almost shyly. ‘You can speak openly, my Lord.’ she urged, Davos sighed and nodded, setting the cup on the small table between them, unable to drink more, he looked at her, his eyes honest.

‘I trust him he’ll tell ya all that, along with everythin’ he decided about which House will rule which bloody kingdom in his name…’ Davos started, Sansa nodded, waiting. ‘I trust’im… no matter the beast and the new sigil and colors… I trust’im, Jon is a good man.’ Davos was struggling with the words.

‘But you don’t trust Kinvara.’ Sansa concluded as Davos sighed deeply and nodded. ‘If it’s any comfort to you, my Lord,, neither do I…’ Sansa offered, crossing her legs, sipping more from her wine. ‘And though I’m sure she’ll tail me and Jon in our journey North, I’m going to keep my eye on her.’ Sansa offered and Davos nodded. ‘You think she's dangerous?’ Sansa asked for his opinion, Davos looked away, over the city, towards the sea, a troubled frown etched upon his face. ‘If, yes, you do well,’ Sansa added to sooth his doubt over Jon’s priestess. ‘They’re fanatics with swaying loyalties. Tyrion warned me about her.’ Sansa added and Davos nodded this time, looking back at her with a small smile. ‘However, I feel better to know she will come with us, so I can watch her, than to let her here, if we are to cross the Kingsroad, if people from the Vale and Riverrun are there… I trust my family to keep an eye on her as well.’ Sansa added and Davos nodded. ‘Do you trust his Hand?’ Sansa asked with her own turn, Davos looked at her with a raised brow and a knowing look.

‘Let’s say Jon ask’d me to keep an eye on the Dornish Prince myself… until he proves himself loyal... or disloyal.’ Davos added and Sansa smiled, glad that Jon was weaving his own web of protection through truly trustworthy people like Davos and herself. ‘It’s a comfort ya’ll be there, my Queen, with him.’ Davos added and Sansa smiled honestly at the older man as she raised her cup slightly towards him, drinking the last of her wine. The man stood, respectively bowing to her. ‘He also asked me -since he knew I’d secretly visit you…’ Sansa chuckled at that ‘To tell you that he’d be more than delighted if ya had dinner with’im tonight. Ghost is invited too.’ Davos added, Sansa smiled widely as she nodded her head and he bowed.

‘Sir Davos,’ Sansa called out gently as the older man was ready to leave her chambers. He stopped and turned around to look at her, waiting.

‘What do you think Jon will be like, in his reign?’ Sansa asked honestly, causing Davos to give pause and ponder on the question.

‘I’m sure Tyrion revealed to you his plan before he was executed…’ Davos offered gently, Sansa nodded somberly. Tyrion’s plot to push the Six Kingdoms upon her was still something that troubled her sleep, nightmares of her becoming the Queen of Westeros, trapped in King’s Landing forever, being murdered upon the Iron Throne that was no more, plunged her. ‘I believe you would make a just and lovable Queen of the Six Kingdoms.’ Davos went on. ‘And I believe Jon stopping Tyrion is not a bad thin’, considerin’ yo never wanted such poweh, and that Jon or Aegon or whatevah he wan’s to be called, will be a fair and honorable King. Otherwise I’d be back to my sweet wife and surviving kids.’ Davos added and Sansa smiled and nodded, happy with his honest answer, his care for her and Jon both.

The terrace was illuminated by torches and candles, overlooking Blackwater Bay. The round table waiting for two was full of plates with food, even her favorite lemoncakes, Sansa noticed as she approached, accompanied by Ghost. Jon was gazing over the sea, his back to her, clad in black, hair tied back in a bun. He turned the moment he heard Ghost’s heavy breath, the direwolf always hot and bothered so south from his home.

He smiled at Sansa, offering his hand for her to take. She gave it willingly, smiling as he raised it to kiss her knuckles, their eyes locked with each other, before his gaze could travel down her slender form, his other hand reaching to touch the braid falling on one side of her chest. Sansa couldn’t help but hold her breath at his proximity, the scent of him, the dark eyes that swallowed her whole.

‘I like the wolf bit,’ he echoed the truth of his words in the past, his voice now much more confident, a whisper of darkness in it, causing her to shiver and fight her racing heart. Her summer dress was cleaned from all the white fur, the direwolf emblem of silver thread on it; visible again. She smiled, remembering his tenderness back then, appreciating it now, he was a Targaryen, he had a dragon, she had his wolf, but he was the same man, practical, uneasy with words but at last easy with himself, brave, gentle and strong.

‘Thank you,’ her own voice deep, a calm sea with turmolous currents in its depths. The sun had fallen over the horizon a while ago, allowing the stars to shine down upon the continent they ruled over. Jon and Sansa remained close, only their hands touching, eyes speaking better than words while Ghost laid down, relaxed and uninterested to both through he sensed the atmosphere between them, maybe he was used to that kind of tension between them.

They had shared food before, scraps of it, bad soup and Northern feasts and drinks, causing them to recall onion and kidney pies of their young years. Yet this dinner, this time; felt different, intimate, between two people equal, two people in love with the world they ruled over separating and uniting them. Their meal was spent in comfortable silence, looks of contentment and easy talk, allowing them to calm with the table between them and sharing food.

‘I need your opinion,’ Jon offered as they ate, Sansa nodded, trying the lemon cakes. The Red Keep had almost collapsed and rebuilt, but the lemons of Highgarden were the best to make her favorite dessert, Jon had remembered and commanded to be baked for her, she could see it in his smile as she savored the sweet cake. ‘Over the stops we should have on our journey North.’ he added, she could see he was excited, happy, ready to start anew with his kingdom. Sansa had been a Queen for some years already, knowing the good and bad moments of ruling over a kingdom. She was glad to see him ready to do it himself, governing during peace, over people settled and demanding was different from commanding desperate and hectic men in battle. He was good and just, he would soon realise just how much. ‘I believe Davos slipped already,’ Sansa grinned and nodded.

‘Harrenhal, Riverrun, passing the Twins, then?’ Sansa offered gently, he nodded.

‘Castle Cerwyn next?’ he asked, his voice slightly deeper at the name. She inclined her head, looking deep into his eyes, her bite forgotten.

She knew of the risks she was taking, she knew what some people could think of her, below and above the Neck. Another foolish Stark by the side of a destructive Targaryen, as if not enough damage had already been done from the unions of these two Houses, the blood these unions had bathed into, both concerning Jon in history books. She also knew this vicious circle needed to close. Another chapter should start, one with their names as the title and a happy ending, she would make sure she wasn’t the Northern Fool and he wasn’t the Villain. Maybe it was foolish of her to trust him so easily, it was instinct, she couldn’t help it, his eyes always looked at her with honesty, either when he called on her betrayals or confessed the truth of his feelings for her.

‘We can stop at Moat Cailin as well,’ Sansa offered, Jon looked at her surprised, his brows raised. ‘Rebuilt, one of the priorities I set after my coronation… Rickard is Prince to it.’ she explained, Jon nodded, the pride in his eyes unmistakable, along countless questions. ‘The Battle against the Night destroyed many Houses…we would starve, I needed a stronghold where crops could be planted…’ Sansa explained briefly, she wished for Jon to see her work in the North with his own eyes. ‘I had to make adjustments, reward the winners, ascend some houses while greater houses got extinct, I needed new supporters and allies while old gruff Lords groaned as their young Queen made reforms. You will see many things changed in the North, once we’re there.’ Sansa offered and Jon smiled and nodded.

‘Moat Cailin for sure then, after that; Castle Cerwyn,’ Sansa nodded, a smile turning her lips at the biting tone of his that remained then…’ his voice softened, anticipation lacing it.

‘Home,’ Sansa added, smiling at him, the flickered turmoil unmissed from his gaze. He would find a way, they would find a way he had promised, and he kept his promises even if the sky fell down upon them, once already, literally.

‘Home,’ Jon tried the word in his own tongue, before gulping it down with ale from his cup. ‘I want you to know what I have decided for the South,’ Jon offered as they finished their desserts.

Jon rose from his chair and approached, helping her out of her own. Ghost remained behind, choosing the night breeze from the heat of the inside of the Keep. The massive terrace was connecting many different chambers, Jon escorted Sansa to one away from their table. They entered a chamber with a massive table in the middle.

‘There is a similar one in Dragonstone,’ Jon announced as the two stood before the massive map of Westeros, carved and painted on a massive tabletop before them. ‘I asked for one to be made here as well,’ he added as he looked at Sansa who nodded her head.

Jon and Sansa remained before it, figurines of many different houses were spread over their respective seats. Some gathered without a seat yet, many were missing, devoured by the wars. In the North, only the figurine of the direwolf sat upon the miniature drawing of Winterfell, staring back at the couple with its jaws open while a dragon head figurine was facing the wolf from its spot upon King’s Landing.

‘The Westerlands?’ Sansa asked first, her eyes scanning the detailed map crossing from Dorne to the Wall. She clasped her hands on her front, clad in dark fabrics just like Jon, only now, in stronger light, Sansa noticed the red thread over Jon’s heart, a dragon head over a flame made of golden thread, calling to his true parentage as her own direwolf proved hers.

Jon stood next to Sansa as the two monarchs remained at the bottom of the map, their eyes traveling to the lands mentioned, Jon’s arm snaked around her waist, easily, firmly.

‘House Marbrand.’ Jon vocalised his decision. Sansa nodded, fighting back a smirk.

‘“ _Burn Bright”_. It’s suiting your new reign.’ Sansa offered and Jon shrugged, his eyes traveling to hers with a small smile.

‘It mostly suits me that they will be loyal since ascended by me, and by threat of “burning bright” the gold of the Westerlands will be channeled to the Crown’s treasury and not kept in the Westerlands.’ Jon’s words were curt, addressed at the distrust he felt over the powerful and rising of Westeros, Sansa was only glad he chose to give them choices, be loyal and giving or face the consequences. ‘I won’t have them fighting in retaliation against the Iron Born after what happened with Yara, we need to move on. No more blood will be spilt.’ Jon added and Sansa couldn’t help but smile this time, she remembered the days he was planning and unfolding his strategies of war. He was good at ruling, she had been right back then.

‘The Iron Islands?’ Sansa asked. She had been absent in all his councils even though summoned but she was glad he had been guided wisely by Davos, Sam and Prince Martell so far.

‘House Botley,’ Jon answered, Sansa sighed, they had once fought in the conquest of the Riverlands.

‘No matter who I choose from those Islands, they have a history of hostility with mainland Westeros.’ Jon added as if reading her mind. ‘If gratitude isn’t there -which I doubt will be since I fed Yara to Balerion- for the next generations, threatening them with my dragon will have to be enough. I won’t have them terrorising the rest. Their independence is out of the question.’ Jon added finally. Sansa sighed heavily, nodding her head as her eyes glanced at her own kingdom and sigil. The North was free and though she had promised she’d abdicate, she would only do it if the Northerners chose him over her and their freedom.

‘I will make sure the Ironborn are informed that after House Greyjoy’s collapse, this will be a new era for them, either follow the rest of the continent or hostility will be answered with hostility…’ Jon’s eyes had darkened as he focused on the islands of the map. Sansa couldn’t help but agree with him despite the situation. The Ironborn had raided on many different areas of Westeros time and time again. They had to be contained.

‘And the Reach?’ Sansa asked this time, choosing to end the subject of the most aggressive of the kingdoms there, she genuinely cared for Highgarden the only place she had found some traces of comfort while a hostage of the Lannisters.

Jon remained silent for long moments, brushing his front against her arm as to reach the wooden archer and place it upon Horn Hill. Sansa looked at the figurine before she could look back at Jon, her eyes uncertain, he looked steadily back at her.

‘The War claimed your friend, Margery, along her entire house.’ Jon’s voice was gentle as he recalled what she had told him of Margery Tyrell while they told each other while recruiting forces to take back Winterfell. ‘House Hightower is a ghost of itself with two bitter widows, House Redwyne is as dead as Ollena… Empowering the Florents would endanger Gendry at the Stormlands… Stannis still has people who think him and his wife a martyr…’ Jon’s vocalised thinking had Sansa turning towards him, her eyes soft. Shireen Baratheon had also been sacrificed by a priestess very much like the one Jon had with him, Sansa decided not raise tension of that kind by mentioning her thoughts. However, she would talk to him about Kinvara soon.

‘Have you talked to Sam about it?’ she asked the next thing that came to mind. Jon looked down at the map, his negative answer evident in his eyes. ‘Jon…do you think he can make it?’ Sansa added and Jon looked back at her, the negative answer still there.

‘He will be informed by Davos.’ Jon finally answered, Sansa sighed, knowing these two used to be best friends, Jon would speak to Sam in his own time but he should be quick. ‘And I think he will be happy to leave this city and go back to his actual home, with Gilly and their children…’ Jon sighed at Sansa’s pointing look. ‘But no, I don’t think he will make it on his own.He will be a wise lord but he would have been good for a small House. The Reach is powerful and where wealth and power exists… monsters are being born.’ He added pointedly, Sansa understood immediately.

‘’You will have him as a vessel.’ Sansa pointed out at last. ‘He will be a puppet lord, the Reach will become like the Crownlands, passing to you.’ Sansa added and Jon looked deep into her eyes.

‘He will follow my command, the gold from the Reach will also empower the Crown and I will make sure the coin goes to all kingdoms depending on what they need, equally this time. If the local lords and their houses fail to exploit the wealth of the Crown accordingly, they will be taken down and replaced. It is time for all kingdoms to work together, no more civil wars, no more battles, no more powerful Houses and yielding Kings, no more starvation and uprisings.’ Jon explained and Sansa remained to look at him, she spoke after a few moments, looking back at the map of Westeros, for a moment her eyes travelling to the straight line representing the Wall. She pondered on the memory of another king, impassive and idle, had he known of all this, of Jon’s change, of Jon reaching his new potential? Had Bran been assassinated by Tyrion Lannister or he had guided his Hand into taking him out of the way at the right time?

_‘You were exactly where you were supposed to be.’_

_‘But they lost their King.’_

‘The council helped you?’ she asked softly, pushing away the mist of memories and questions.

‘Do we need a council to have some common sense practiced?’ Jon asked in mild challenge, nearing her from behind, his warmth engulfing Sansa as he wrapped his arms around her, his hands resting upon hers; over her stomach. Sansa actually chuckled, leaning into him instinctively, he was practical, easy to follow, like back in the past, she had missed that straight way forward, it rejuvenated her. She also loved the way he held her, his chin on her shoulder, his hot breath against the nape of her neck. They lacked pace, one moment they were tangled into each other, the next they could remain apart from dust until dawn.

‘No, I suppose not,’ Sansa finally replied in a whisper. Turning around in Jon’s arms, their fronts touching, both arms wrapping around her waist as her own rested on his chest, soft and rich fabrics over his beating hard, she was glad to feel the restless thudding under her palm, matching the racing of her own heart. There had been two days since their confessions in her chambers and ever since they hadn’t spent time together, clicking into place easily now was effortless, calming after the storm they had brewed for each other. Today would be their first time on their own, word would spread, across the Keep and the city, across the merchants leaving it for the rest of the Kingdoms. The King of Westeros and Queen in the North hadn’t expressed hostility against each other, the world was safe, peaceful. Sansa had sent the raven to Winterfell, halting them all by command, informing them all of her wellbeing. Promising she was to start for the North soon, she would inform them of Jon accompanying her in another letter, let them settle and adjust first. This would be the second time a Stark was bringing a Targaryen North, only this time the Kingdom was independent, the dragon wasn’t conquering the place, he would be a guest, a friend, a wolf allowed by his partner to reach their den once again, maybe find a place in it once more if not claim it.

‘And the North, King Aegon?’ She whispered as their lips remained a whisper away from each other, heartbeats almost audible, bodies heating up from within, ignited. Jon actually smiled at the sound of his name, given by his mother instead the one given by her father. She had accepted his identity even before himself. It felt refreshing and intriguing as she had whispered his name against his lips, instead of calling it like a spat to harm him two days prior.

‘The North belongs to House Stark, as it has for thousands of years…’ Jon replied, his arms tightening around her possessively. ‘The Red Wolf declared its independence in my absence… She already has an Heir for it… I will have to fight hard to reclaim it… but again, no blood will be spilt.’ he promised, she smiled at him, warmth spreading all over her body at his admission for her, her deeds and the promise of peace.

‘What of fire?’ she whispered, reminding him how he had threatened to destroy the North, just a few days ago.

‘That was only when I thought the Red Wolf belonged to someone else…But now I know to whom she belongs…’ he finally closed the small gap separating their lips, a kiss turning in a battle of possession and need, a kiss that had both of them sighing against each other, breaths stolen, hearts beating like crazy, as one.

‘To whom she belongs?’ Sansa asked breathlessly, she needed to hear him say it, an affinity for his words changing into primal need, Jon smiled wolfishly against her gasping lips.

‘To me, and I belong to her,’ he replied in a breathless exhale, before backing her against the massive table, trapping her there as their hands started exploring each other vigorously.

Sansa sucked in a breath as his lips journeyed to her neck, his hot breath washing over her skin, her eyes rolled as the shivers ran down her spine, igniting fiery desire she hadn’t felt in a long time. Her own fingers clenched at his clothes, his arms, _anything_ she could hold on to for support; although the more she touches Jon, the more she loses herself into him. The throbbing between her legs causes her to swift in his arms, a moan escaping her lips shamelessly as his lips planted on her shoulder, his hands straining the cords of her dress, fighting them.

Jon rumbles Sansa’s name as he’s grasping on her hips, pulling her up on the table while her hands fisted in his locks, releasing them from the tight bun painfully. Jon is growling as her fingers brush against the back of his neck, soothing his scalp before she can claw at his shoulders, making him hiss and shiver. Their bodies melting against each other,, ignited by their kiss and a lifetime long anticipation, the world could have been collapsing around them and they would not notice, completely lost in their heated battle, no armies and dragons or swords, tearing at each other tenderly, making up for lost time. Dark fabrics and pale hands tangling in a heated mixture of lust and gasps, between half broken kisses and grunts of pleasure.

‘Jon…’ Sansa tried in vain as Jon was pushing her further against the table, his hands digging into her thighs, as they fell over the map, her clothed chest heaving before him, Sansa hissed as something stung in the small of her back. ‘Fuck Dorne,’ Sansa suddenly gasped the words. The figurine of House Dayne upon Starfall was painfully pushing against her flesh. Jon smirked at the profanity, tugging her flush against him, his hand knocking away all the figurines from the South of Westeros as her thighs opened to accommodate him. His hands were pulling at the fabric of her skirts, desperate to feel her bare skin there but Sansa was soon pushing his hands away, struggling to stop him and compose herself. They had lost control far too easily and it was far too soon, for too brief.

‘We should stop,’ She tried breathlessly, Jon’s hand came in contact with the bare skin of her thigh; and stopped indeed as he felt the scar there, she was sure. His dilated, darkened eyes cleared for a moment, as her own eyes drifted closed, soon his hand was touching her chin, causing her to open her eyes and look at him, his own gaze already travelling at the scars on her thighs.

‘You’re beautiful,’ Jon was honest, his thumb caressed the faded scars, burns, lashings, cuts, all kinds of torment had been endured, yet his eyes held no anger, no grudge, he was fully focused on her, she was thankful for that, it was just the two of them, all their oppressors dead and gone from between them. ‘Absolutely beautiful.’ he repeated in a whisper full of honesty and need before he could claim her lips once again.

Sansa fought the heat blooming in her blood, the throbbing between her legs almost unbearable as Jon started a journey anew of open mouthed kisses from her lips to her jaw, her neck, down her clothed body, lips and hands worshiping her body, even over her summer dress, moving down, pushing gently on her lower stomach until she could prob herself on her elbows this time. Her skirts pooled around her hips. She moaned as she felt the scrap of his beard against her stockings, nuzzling his nose and cheek there. She could guess what he wanted to do, even though no one had ever done that to her. For a blissful moment, she considered letting herself go, give in to her arousal, take what had been hers for so long. But she knew she wasn’t ready yet, her first time with Jon shouldn’t be against a bloody table with figurines digging in her back. Though lost in his own desire and need for her, Sansa knew, Jon would regret this as much as she would if they give in now.

‘Jon…’ Sansa rasped out the name, making him pause and and look up at her flushed face, his face as heated and needy, wild locks released around his face, the scar across his brow evident. ‘You would never compromise me… in a place like this, with guards on the doors and patrolling around the terrace.’ she tried to slip some sense into him, the wilderness in his gaze fading, like a passing storm over the sea, violent but quick and calming.

‘Never?’ his voice sounded almost pained, giving them one more chance into failing. Sansa wanted to chuckle but she only smiled and pushed her skirts down, offering him her hand to be pulled up and off the table, he reluctantly tugged at her but brought her straight in his arms.

They needed time, she needed time, the scars on her legs were the softest, compared to the ones on her back, chest and arms, she needed time to open up like this to Jon. Because she knew, with him, she would open up completely and she still needed time to get used to the vulnerability and openness. She had been strong, in control and unbending for far too long. An icy rock, yet Jon was a firestorm ready to crush upon her, melting down all the jagged edges.

‘A bastard maybe… but Aegon Targaryen? Never…’ she confirmed for him, still tightly held in his arms, his forehead rested against hers as he fought with all his might to calm down.

‘Never…’ he echoed her word with effort, she knew he loved his true name being spoken by her, it was evident in the way his eyes narrowed slightly, his lips parting. He was comfortable with who he was, even aroused by her acknowledgement of his identity. They had time to explore each other, _learn_ each other, become one, they needed that time to cherish each other’s company and closeness before they moved to the next step.

Forgiving, even forgetting was easy, trusting anew required time, especially when your heart was at stake.

‘I should go, leave Ghost to go and hunt in the Kingswood…’ Sansa announced as she pushed him slightly away, only then realizing they had knocked down figurines up to the Reach. She didn’t care as she called out for Ghost who was soon rushing in the chamber, tail wagging. . ‘Good night,’ she smiled sweetly at him, Jon stole a kiss from her lips for an actually good night, before he respectively stepped back, making more room for Ghost to escort Sansa out of the map chamber. She dusted down her dress, her own heart still thudding in her chest, screaming for her to stay while her feet led her to the door.

‘Speak with Sam, it’s only right, before we leave,’ Sansa offered softly, looking back at Jon who only nodded after a long sigh, his mind struggling to catch up with the political and personal advice after such a heated moment. He nodded again, mechanically, she could see as his eyes remained somewhere on the map. She knew, if he turned to look at her at that moment, he wouldn’t let her go out of the chamber, unable to restrain himself, she admired his resolve, and hated him just a tiny bit for it, as she opened the door and exited the chamber, exhaling the breath she had been holding trapped in her lungs.

‘Fuck Dorne,’ she bit her lips to stifle a chuckle as she heard him repeating her words in frustration. Before she could shut the door behind her and lean against it for a moment, needing the support of the carved, polished wood as she closed her eyes and ran a shaky hand over her kiss-swollen lips.

It felt good to be wanted, desired… _loved_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OI! that escalated quickly!!! and deescalated as quickly lol sorry for stopping them but they had to, lol  
> I hope you enjoyed it, I needed Sansa to speak with Davos over the past and the present,  
> We got some info on how things are in some key places across Westeros and I needed Jon and Sansa to start having normal interaction (he remembered the lemon cakes) and I needed a westeros table because that on dragonstone was AWESOME and I wanted them to fuck around over it because the show took that from the jonerys ship lololol  
> Sansa calling Jon Aegon... uuunnnnghhh YES, (lol too excited when I should be asleep )  
> thank you so much for reading!!  
> comments are love and motivation! 💚


	12. Jon VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UH... UH? a wild update within 48 hours appears!!!!  
> along the inspiration to make previews of the story chapters up to No23 in my notebook... just like that  
> the chapter came effortlessly, took no prisoners and left me needing to write more but I will have to take a break because the best friend is about to arrive to spend sunday night here  
> all my love to my wonderful readers out there!

Chapter Twelve- Jon VI

_“But when enough people make false promises, words stop meaning anything. Then there are no more answers, only better and better lies.”_

‘We believe you will find Harrenhal full of people, Lords from around the kingdoms have already sent word people will gather there for your first stop. Apart from the Lords of the Vale and the Riverlands, they will be waiting for you and Queen Sansa at Riverrun.’ Davos was saying while Jon secured the straps of his cloak, adjusting them, he couldn’t wait for them to start, the cloak was too warm for inside the castle, the castle was too suffocating compared to the open journey.

He wasn’t surprised at Davos’s words, Sansa’s maternal relatives would wait for them on their second stop. This would be a slow journey, given the escort, wheelhouses, the Queensguard and the Kingsguard, but a journey he was looking forward to.

‘ _Lady_ Sansa will have full responsibility once you cross the border to the North. Any action of hostility from the Northermen will be taken as an act of war. One you’re there, we’ll wait for your word. After the North has surrendered to you. We’ll make the arrangements for your coronation once you’re back and the mourning period for King Bran is over.’ Manfrey was solemn, denying Sansa’s title every chance he got. Jon remained silent, listening to his Hand’s words. The man represented Dorne, a kingdom still in his grasp but always barely slipping from anyone calling himself King of Westeros.Jon had to tread carefully with the man before him, he cared for Dorne’s prosperity but Jon knew, Vipers would strike from the sand if threatened, Jon needed Prince Martell on his side. He was already planning on a tournament set South, once he had returned from the North and after his coronation, another journey to see the rest of the Kingdoms, the place he had been born, he intended to get to know the kingdoms he wished to rule over. .

‘I will talk with the Northmen, I have a plan in case they decide to remain Independent.’ Jon answered diplomatically, not giving out more, Manfrey smiled, his eyes flashing at the words.

‘Does this plan include your dragon?’ Manfrey asked almost eagerly, Jon could see the man liked the power he had been given. Dorne had to stay close to the crown but Davos would have his eye on the Prince while Jon -and his dragon- were away.

‘The dragon is included in all my plans.’ Jon offered back, causing the prince to smile and inclined his head, satisfied, Davos glanced at Jon who nodded at him.

‘Before we leave, I need to speak with Lord Tarly.’ Jon pointed out. The Botleys and Marbrands had reached the capital three days after Jon and Sansa’s heated moment in the map chamber. They -along Sam- had been informed of their ascend to power and the first ones had already left for Harrenhal with their own delegations, rousing more to reach the old massive castle for the King’s first stop. Sam had remained behind, choosing a new Maester to fill his shoes, getting ready with Gilly and their children to leave along Jon and Sansa, first for Harrenhal to pledge their support. Then, the Tarlies would return to Horn Hill after so long. Jon had decided to speak to the man he had considered a brother before they could start the journey. He had told Sansa he would and although he had asked Davos to inform Sam of his new duties as Lord of the Reach, Jon wished to speak with his old friend over the past and the future.

Davos cleared his throat, nodding before he could speak, hands clasped behind his back in his characteristic posture.

‘He was to visit the _Queen_ in her chambers, at her request.’ he informed Jon, under Manfrey’s glare at the title Sansa still held. Jon gulped down at the sound of the words, the Queen’s chambers, the only Queen in the castle, his only Queen.

‘Very well.’ Jon inclined his head. ‘We’ll keep in touch through ravens. I trust the capital to you, keep it safe and I will be in your debt, fail to do so and I will make sure to be back on that dragon, see what went wrong while Balerion eats his highborn meal.’ Jon’s eyes fell upon Manfrey who nodded dutifully, his Hand had the power, the responsibility also. Jon moved towards the exit of the council chamber, he paused a moment before it could open. ‘Make sure the last wheelhouse is full. I want no accidents.’ Jon added and the two men bowed their obedience silently.

Jon was moving through the corridors calmly, glad he would be out of King’s Landing soon. The city held awful memories, it would take months in it, in the Red Keep; his paternal family built -and almost destroyed- to make it feel like home. He mostly felt familiar on foot, out in the countryside -especially if it’d be coated with snow- or on a horse or his dragon rather than in a castle. But he would adapt, he had done so before. After the end of the journey, after finding ways through his political and personal challenges. He would get used to living in a place that reeked of death and screamed of pain and betrayal, his uncle and grandfathers had died in his throne room, he had murdered Daenerys there, the head of the man he considered a father had rotted on a spike on the battlements, Sansa had been abused in that same castle. He couldn’t blame Sansa for not wishing to stay an hour more in the place

He was reaching the chambers that accommodated Sansa but halted when a familiar figure emerged from the shadows, Kinvara smiled at him sweetly, too sweetly.

‘My King,’ her voice sang, she seemed happy to be leaving too, he wasn’t as happy for her following but he couldn’t deny her presence was needed. Religion had collapsed after Cersei’s destruction of the Sept of Baelor and Danaerys’ rain of fire upon the capital of the continent, he needed religion to keep people in check. The people needed religion to have in common when they held so many differences among each other. He needed Kinvara and her religion becoming the main one, filling the gaps the others left -at least in the South- along his dragon, people had to change the way they thought after so many mighty kings died like flies and so many gods failed to protect them all. One God, one ruler, one fire, one dragon, small minds accepted singular, uncomplicated things, believed and elevated them easily.

The South was easier to rule through power. The North was a different matter, many old gods, one wolf, as Red as the weirwood trees of the many Godswoods around her land. Kinvara wouldn’t have power over the Northmen -and Jon was glad for it, his Northern, maternal side whispering the truth deep into his chest- but Jon needed her for the Southerners.

‘Kinvara, I hope you won’t be coming like this up North…’ Jon’s voice was challenging, unable to fight down the annoyance she sparked in him with her suggestive smile. She knew, from day one, she knew he was Sansa’s and it had been years ever since, she still tried, attempted through mind tricks and body language. He was tired of the necessary evil. She approached him, every motion of hers causing her almost sheer fabrics to float around her like smoke, she brushed her breasts against his arm as she almost circled him, her face inches from his.

‘Worried about my getting sick, my King?’ she asked in a whisper, he fought the urge to roll his eyes, looking at her straight in the eyes, sober expression and stiff spine.

‘If you are to slow me down? Yes, go fetch a cloak, the Northern Ice can make Fire flicker and die.’ Jon knew he was bordering blasphemy in the eyes of a fanatic but Kinvara took the message from his angry voice, finally backing away with half a curtsy and half a smirk, obeying.

‘Davos visited her chambers, a few days ago, wishing to fill her in the details of your journey.’ Kinvara tried to whisper doubt in his mind, he rolled his eyes at the attempt.

‘Davos is in my council but also a past counselor to the North… I would have been surprised if he hadn’t.’ Jon pointed out, he had been so sure the older man would visit Sansa he had told him to ask her to join him for dinner those days ago. ‘Now, remember Kinvara, the North is hard to survive. Blizzards can swallow even dragonfire, I have seen it with my own eyes. Go fetch your cloak and tread carefully around Sansa.’ his command was curt, almost a wolf’s snarl that had her finally leaving him alone to fill his lungs with air again, shaking off the annoyance.

The guards on Sansa’s doors were absent, probably sent downstairs in the courtyard to ready the horses and wheelhouses. Her own escort of Northmen was almost a hundred men in arms, enough to defend their Queen through lands familiar to her and in the capital she so much despised, they were also glad to be returning home at last.

Jon pushed open the door slowly, finding Ghost content on his rear legs -another reason for the guards to be gone from her door- his red eyes already on him. Jon wasn’t surprised to find the direwolf there, loyally waiting for Sansa to move outside. What surprised him however was Sam -dressed in leather jerkin and Tarly sigils on, instead of the woolen clothes Jon had been used on seeing him as a maester in the past days- handing Sansa a jar of purple cream. Sansa was storing a small vial in the inside of her dress’ flap over her left breast before she could receive the jar. Her head snapping at Jon’s direction in surprise, eyes glancing at Ghost who hadn’t reacted in warning of someone approaching, the direwolf reacted only to threats, Jon knew and Sansa should have known too after so long.

Remembering how she brushed lady for hours, taking care of her poor pup. Yes, Jon came to realise now he was glad for that one betrayal, Ghost and Sansa’s bond was a balm to his wounded pride over his direwolf’s leaving, and her direwolf’s death. They were all survivors, Ghost had felt the dragon quickening, inside Jon and the beast approaching, all those years ago, now he was only glad Ghost had chosen Sansa as the closest member of the pack after himself.

‘Jon,’ Sansa tried to stifle her surprise.

‘My King,’ Sam was as surprised at Jon finding him in Sansa’s chambers. Guilt written all over his face. Jon smiled, probably surprising the people before him even more, trying to be discreet over his curiosity over the jar and the vial, it was Sansa’s business after all.

‘I wanted to escort Sansa downstairs, we’re ready. I also wanted a word with you, Sam.’ Jon explained his presence there, Sansa’s approving smile causing his heart to kick in his chest.

‘I need to speak with the Queensguard on the ground floor. I could be escorted outside from there.’ Sansa offered, as she pushed the jar in a traveling pouch she had with her under the cloak, the bag resting on her hip as its strap hung from her shoulder. Ghost stood on all fours and approached her as she exited the door, rewarding Jon with another smile as she and the direwolf left the room, leaving the two men alone in it.

The silence stretched between the two, they had been brothers once, in the coldness of the Wall, in the middle of the darkness, in the fight for the Dawn. Where Jon had let Sam behind in the frenzy of battle. Sam had been the one to tell Jon the truth of his parentage, he had been in danger as well, when Daenerys had commanded Jon to swear Sam and Bran to secrecy. He had lost his friend, among the many things he lost at the end of the war, he regretted the brief goodbye. He regretted not telling Sam of his new role as Lord of the Reach himself, mostly Jon regretted that he had to look Sam in the eyes now. It was easier to be aloof, angry, stern and commanding, opening up before Sansa after so long had lifted a massive weight from his chest, but facing the rest of the surviving people in his life was hard.

‘My King, Qu-Queen Sansa needed a paste and I had it ready before Sir Davos told me about your decision-’

‘Sam, I would like to apologise for not telling you myself,’ Jon stopped Sam from his misconception on why he had sought him out. ‘I would also like to apologise for treating you like I did in Winterfell… During the battle, I left you behind, trying to save Bran, finishing the Night King had been a priority for so long in my life and I…’ Jon paused only to take a deep breath.

‘It’s alright,’ Sam interrupted the rest of Jon’s apology, causing a pang of pain in his chest for Sam’s eagerness to always forgive people.

‘You had asked me if I knew of Daenerys burning your family,’ Jon tried to rush in his apology, opening up to the second person he could trust in this world. ‘Indeed, Daenerys hadn’t told me.’ Jon admitted, the information from Sam had only added to Jon’s desperation to lure Daenerys as far away as possible from Sansa. ‘Only Sansa knows right now but I intend to make everyone understand. I did it all to bring the armies North against the Night King, I did it all to save us from the Night and I never meant for our friendship to-’

‘Jon… I mean King Jon, Aegon, uhhh’ Sam was struggling, making two strides closer in his attempt to make this less awkward. ‘I know, I mean I can imagine.’ Sam tried again, smiling innocently at Jon. He was the same old Sam, when Jon had been through so much, Sam had remained that good hearted, honourable man who saw the best in everyone but himself. ‘I understand,’ he added once more.

‘They say a king is like a parent.... Right?’ Sam tried, Jon nodded. ‘You know I love little Sam, but when Gilly gave birth to Joana… I… I realised I would have given up the world to save her, it was then I fully understood you.’ Sam’s voice was soft, without realising so, he had caused Jon to lose the air from his lungs.

‘Joana?’ Jon asked, unable to stop the smile from his lips forming.

_‘I hope it’s a girl,’_

Sam chuckled, glancing up at Jon sheepishly.

‘Gilly had insisted, even though it was a girl, after all, she wanted to honour you for saving us from Death. You’ve been around here for so little...in the capital and she’s usually taking care of the children in our chambers. You see, the dragon scares them,’ Sam tried innocently. ‘But you will see her now in the journey, before we go to Horn Hill and-’ the two tended on interrupting each other like as Jon rushed close to Sam and the two shared a hug like the one they had shared back in the Crypts of Winterfell the night Sam told Jon the truth of his parents.

A child named after him, someone other than Sansa who had acknowledged that old sacrifice of his that people had chosen to ignore over him giving up his Northern Crown. He had taken Daenerys’ descent into madness as a failure of his own, but he had also claimed the victory of saving the world from the Night.

‘I can’t wait to meet Joana, and see little Sam and Gilly of course.’ Jon offered as the two men broke the embrace and smiled at each other, dressed in their houses’ colors and sigils. Both accepting their parentages for what they were, embracing their places in the world. ‘It’s good you will be with us in the journey, at least up to Harrenhal.’ Jon added with a smile. Sam smiled back and nodded.

‘And then back to Horn Hill…’ Sam added, fear flicking through his faded smile. Jon clasped Sam on the shoulder.

‘I will back you all the way, guide you through ruling the Reach. You can prove everyone wrong, the Crown will be there for you and your children, Sam.’ Jon promised and he could only smile at the relief washing over his friend. They were still friends and soon they would be political allies. At least the Reach would never betray him, that was more than nothing. Vipers, Stags, Tullys and Arryns along new Fishes had to be contained and put in their place, let alone the North that had been a challenge on its own, at least the Reach was truly loyal.

‘The Reach will always be yours, my King,’ Sam declared as bravely as he could, Jon smiled and thanked his friend once again. ‘We better be going however, the Queen and Gilly are not the patient kind…’ Sam added and Jon this time laughed, having missed the easy company so very much.

‘Indeed they are not,’ Jon acknowledged as the two men moved out of the chambers and descended to the courtyard.

Jon couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Sansa, taking in her in appearance. The traveling cloak she was wearing was pale grey, weirwood leaves at the hem. Bannermen with the Stark direwolf around her, along the direwolf himself as Ghost stood in attention by her side, his massive built almost towering her tall and slender form. Her hair was in a braid again on the side of her chest, covering her heart, her dress was a darker shade of grey, plain but obsydians were adorning her neck. What stopped him on his tracks was the beautiful circlet on her head, two direwolves meeting, jaws open and threatening, one protecting the throat of the other. Of course, she was a Queen, beautiful and ready to return home as one, she had exited the city like a thief once and twice a Queen in her own right. Her Tully blue eyes were laughing with joy at her departure. The creeping guilt for keeping her there was smothered down as Jon drank in her sight, speaking with Gilly while little Sam-who wasn’t so little anymore, a boy already- standing by his mother’s side, holding a girl by the hand that had its back to Jon and Sam as they approached.

‘Your Grace,’ Kinvara stopped them, once again interrupting him from reaching Sansa. She was holding a circlet herself. Black dragon scales made of metal, connecting on a dragonhead with its own jaws open. Two tiny rubies in the eyes’ sockets. Jon nodded, he was taking care of the kingdoms, Kinvara was taking care of the details, symbolism was one of them. He placed the crown on, fitting perfectly, heavier on his head than how it had felt on his palms. Sam looked at him with awe in his eyes as he passed by Kinvara who backed away with a satisfied smile, going outside.

Gilly was the first to take notice of the King approaching as she turned and curtsied deeply. Sansa turned her eyes on Jon, a storm of emotions flickered through her own eyes as she noticed the crown on his head. Pride and lust where the ones most evident to Jon, or he hoped them to be as she smiled. Yet, for the first time Sansa didn’t hold his gaze for long as Jon’s eyes fell on the little girl by Sam’s hand who didn’t curtsy but smiled up at him a bright smile.

Crooked teeth, chubby cheeks and warm brown eyes, the girl was adorable, there was no denying. Jon would make sure her education was the best, along a match -if she wished for- when she was old enough.

‘Our son Sam,’ Jon’s friend gestured at the grown boy. ‘You don’t remember the King but he’s the reason we’re all alive.’ The boy bowed respectively. ‘And this is Joana Tarly, our daughter.’ Sam introduced the children to Jon formally, people were around them, listening. Gilly smiled up at Jon who couldn’t help but hug her before he could smile down at the children. Sansa’s smile was soft, sweet, close by while Ghost stood by her side. The thought of his impatience to meet Rickard Stark crossed Jon’s mind, causing him to smile back at Sansa. He had missed so much, during the war and in the years following his exile, he would do his best to make up for the lost time.

‘I’m sure one day, my kingsguard will be much greater with you in, young man,’ Jon offered kindly, little Sam’s eyes widened in shock and happiness. ‘As for you little one, you are my favorite.’ he shamelessly admitted. She would be his old name’s reminder. ‘‘Are we ready?’ Jon finally asked, addressing Sansa.

‘For days now,’ she offered impatiently and he smiled and nodded, taking her hand, escorting her as bannermen and the Tarlies followed them.

The procession was large, bannermen in Stark grey and Targaryen black were more than the Tarly bannermen having reached the capital once Sam was declared Lord of the kingdom of the Reach. Wheelhouses and carriages, horses fed and ready to start. Kinvara was there, on her horse already. Gilly took to one of the wheelhouses with her children. Sam got on a horse by it, leaving Jon and Sansa to reach the front horses, a strong white mare and an imposing black stallion, both adorned with their sigils on their horse armor.

Sansa mounted first, helped by Jon for her cloak to cover the rear legs of the horse, her mare was wary of Ghost who followed Sansa's side, almost the same size as the horse. Jon turned and looked at the stairs leading to the Keep, Manfrey, Davos and the rest of the heirs of the newly ascended houses, left in King’s Landing for squiers and representing their areas to the Crown bid farewell to the new King as Jon mounted his own horse and next to Sansa, started for the exit of the city.

He saw Sansa’s worried eyes at Balerion’s screech, his massive shadow passing upon them as the dragon too, took flight from the dragonpit, flying ahead. She glanced above, the capital’s sun blinding her, before she could look back, conflicted emotions crossing her beautiful face as her eyes looked somewhere on the back.

‘I don’t think the dragon looming over people is a good idea. Especially over this city and in Harrenhal, where the castle itself stands as evidence of what the beast is capable of. Let alone the North...’ Sansa vocalised as they synchronised their horses in a slow stroll for now, tha pavement slippery for the horses. The massive gates of the courtyard were opening, revealing the city, people had gathered to see them, cheer for them as word of Jon’s new, chosen Lords and gathering coin for the capital had spread. Jon looked at Sansa, with the corner of his eyes seeing Kinvara glaring at them for her words, he didn’t care of the priestess’ displeasure, but he cared for the dragon truly.

‘He will keep his distance, but he will be with us.’ Jon’s words were final to Sansa’s annoyance, he was sure, but Balerion was indeed essential to him. He had been set alit with the dragon in Valyria and both had lived through the experience of cleansing, purging themselves of their crimes and past life, following orders into madness, now they would only follow each other. ‘He’s the last of his kind… and enough dragons have died in the dragonpit and from scorpions.’ he recalled Rheagal, that sting hadn’t healed in his chest, no matter rituals and time past.

‘What do dragons eat anyway?’ Sansa challenged him, clearly annoyed but accepting his words -she had taken him for a Targaryen from the beginning after all, while even he denied himself his identity- her voice betrayed no hostility, only concern. He had missed the challenge, the quick thinking, the way she strived to make him better, he had missed the support he once took for underminement.

‘Do not worry that cunning head of yours, my Queen.’ he addressed the right Queen as she deserved, causing her to battle a smile. He eats whatever I give him to eat.’ Jon added as the cheers of the people around them grew louder as they delved deeper into the city towards the gates, unable to hear each other without screaming over the people’s noise. Jon watched as Sansa turned her head again, looking back, he knew she was looking at the last wheelhouse, the one barred and locked with tiny windows on top, the frown upon her face was unmistakable.

She turned her head to look forward again, her eyes catching the massive figure of Balerion above them, he was already ahead, going north. The thought of her leaving the city probably crossed her mind as Jon studied her face and saw the happiness ignited in her eyes once again, her troubles over the dragon, pushed aside. Jon knew he and Sansa would have to find ways to deal with each other, their new powers and dynamics, this journey would be transforming for both of them.

The people on the back cheered louder, causing Sansa to turn her head over her shoulder once again, Jon was only happy to see her smile.

On Jon’s command, Davos had asked Sam to bring fruit and food from the Reach, as his first command as Lord of the area. The food had reached the capital just a night before and Jon had wished for the people of the city to be fed on his way out of the capital, a promise of his era beginning with feeding the starving and starving the disloyal. He had wandered lost and desperate through those same streets while fire rained down upon the people, burning the poor and neglected, the surrendered.

It was easy to win the hearts of the people, feed them, show mercy on them, protect and keep your promises to them, be just and fair and they will love you, more importantly, they will obey you. The highborn were an entirely different matter but Jon would find a way, especially for the beautiful, highborn Queen by his side.

Sansa turned and looked at Jon, a mixture of approval and pride had replaced worry and annoyance.

‘Show off…’ she called out loud enough only for him to hear, causing him to laugh.

They both kicked their horses into a trott, exiting the rebuilt gate of the city of King’s Landing, entering the Kingsroad for their journey together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not a jonsa chap exactly but I needed Jon to do some things.  
> speaking with Sam after he gave a couple of things to Sansa( I had forgotten their scene in s8ep1 and it really helped that at least there, they showed Jon having some emotions...) Jon meeting little Joana, setting some things straight about his reign. being political with Martell and having Balerion and Kinvara following was essential for the rest of the story.  
> I felt so comfortable making the chapter in his pov it was deeply enjoyable  
> although it's always easier for me to write sansa's pov  
> thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this quick update,  
> can't wait to hear your thoughts on it and get even more inspired!  
> Next chap, reaching Harrenhal and Sansa's POV


	13. Sansa VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who is spoiling you? I'm spoiling you with another super quick update because 1) I adore this story and have it always on my mind 2) I had to self quarantine for two days because there was possibility I had covid so this came out, I don't have the virus so tomorrow I'm going back to work.  
> Stay safe and enjoy... :*

_Chapter Thirteen - Sansa VII_

__

_High in the halls of the kings who are gone. Jenny would dance with her ghosts. The ones she had lost and the ones she had found. And the ones who had loved her the most._

The sunshine and beautiful spring weather did little to make Harrenhal look more than a massive ruin of melted stone and impeachable walls that had been cursed and silent for so long, peaking through the horizon as the sun was in the middle of the sky, shining down upon the castle and lake at its feet.

Sansa kept her face emotionless as the procession approached, greeted by thousands camping around God’s Eye and staying already inside the massive castle of Harrenhal. She was on her mare, proud and calm animal, used to Ghost by her side, while Jon held the reins of his own stallion, eyes looking forward. Both wore their crowns as they headed towards their first stop.

The past days on the road had been calm, peaceful, people had greeted them, waved and cheered as the fields -fed by the fertile rivers- grew in size on both sides of the Kingsroad. Sansa had spent little time on the wheelhouse she had for her own, not accustomed to being astride a horse as long as Jon, but in need to see the Crownlands and the Riverlands during peacetime. And the green fields hadn’t disappointed her, the most fertile part of Westeros was mesmerising in Spring. Sansa had wondered if Robb had had the time to appreciate the beauty while he charged South to save the family. She had scolded herself at that, he probably hadn’t, it had been war and battles for her older brother.

But now, with Jon by her side, Sansa had finally had the time to breathe in the nature around her, the sweet Southern nights were humid and warm, different from the crisp Spring she enjoyed back home. She had been silently observing Jon too, how he had relaxed, his dragon rarely in sight, Kinvara keeping a distance Sansa appreciated. Sometimes, when she closed her eyes while travelling next to him in silence, it felt as if they were two people roaming over the kingdoms, politics and power swifts forgotten.

‘That’s one ugly castle,’ Jon’s amused voice pulled her out of her thoughts as the procession started passing through the passage to the castle’s massive gate, where the crowd was at its thickest. Sansa only chuckled as any dialogue would have been swallowed by the people welcoming them. Sansa’s gaze darted from the melted towers down upon the people around her.

The newly ascended Lords, along with the ones remaining on their seats, had done a good job on spreading the news of a new, young and powerful king -that suited their power holding- arriving. Aegon Targaryen had arrived at Harrenhal, where his parents had initiated the union that had led to Robert’s Rebellion after that tournament. If Jon felt something about the significance of the place, he kept it to himself but Sansa had been sure Harrenhal hadn’t been just a random choice for their first stop on their journey.

Sansa easily spotted people calling out her own titles and name as well, welcoming her though she was of the North. Her maternal side had held the castle for years through House Whent, before the War of the Five Kings. Jon’s parents had once been there, another Stark and a Targaryen but so had Robb and her own Lady Mother. Maybe they all stayed hidden in the Ghost Tower, she thought as her gaze climbed to one of the massive, melted peaks. Jon noticed her falling spirits as he reached for her hand, taking it and giving a squeeze before he could smile at her reassuringly.

They were soon reaching the courtyard of the lordless castle, the fertile fields around it had served in feeding the thousands gathered and the feast that was to take place. Davos’ wife had been sent there, days prior to their own departure from King’s Landing and she had supervised the preparations.

Marya Seaworth was smiling at the two monarchs, small and frail before the seemingly endless stairs leading to the Great Hall of Harrenhal. The two dismounted and met her halfway on the steps and though her old age must have made it difficult she curtsied deeply at them. Marya had honest eyes and a gentle smile, another childless mother, Sansa couldn’t help the sadness overtake her heart at the thought. Sansa’s face betrayed nothing as the woman showed the way to both royals towards the entrance of the castle while the procession at the bottom of the stairs disbanded for the horses to be fed and the supplies to be refilled in the wheelhouses and carts.

Sansa turned and looked at Ghost, inclining her head for him to follow, he did so quickly and while Sansa had turned over her shoulder, she couldn’t help but let her eyes roam at the rear of the procession, where the guarded wheelhouse remained untouched and unopened since the start of their journey, darkness plunging the small windows at the top.

The sun had fallen over the horizon awhile back. Ghost should be out hunting but as they had reached a place new to them, the direwolf had remained by Sansa’s side, guarding her, though he complained and whined once or twice while yawning in his boredom.

‘You can always go, boy,’ Sansa offered softly as she finished braiding her hair before she could twist and pin it at the back of her head. Ghost whined again, his red eyes looking at her almost expectantly and she chuckled. ‘You’re so very stubborn but I promise, once the feast is over, I will brush your fur until my hand is numb.’ Sansa promised as she took his brush and hit the surface of her chamber’s vanity lightly, causing the direwolf to howl softly and lay back completely, beckoning her. His attention was shifted and he stood on all fours, playful mood forgotten as there was a knock on the door.

‘Come in,’ Sansa called out, wary but knowing she was protected. Of all the people she expected to find entering her chambers, Kinvara was the last one in her list. Ghost growled as the princess entered the chambers, a smile rooted on her lips, eyeing the direwolf before giving a curtsy to Sansa, her smile never reaching her eyes. Her red dress flowed about her, the column of her neck along the valley between her breasts and arms bare for everyone to see. Sansa stood, dressed in a dark green dress, her favorite obsydians already around her neck, found in her mother’s jewelry box back in Winterfell.

‘Your Grace,’ Kinvara acknowledged Sansa’s power with a smile that annoyed the young monarch to no end. Sansa remained silent for a moment more, regarding the woman before her. She had wondered time and time again ever since Jon arrived with her by his side, was it a wise move to have her reaching the North with them?

‘What is it that you want?’ Sansa asked, fighting for her voice not to sound overly hostile, she wasn’t sure she succeeded. Kinvara inclined her head at the tone, smile never wavering.

‘To warn you, my Queen.’ Kinvara tried and Sansa braced herself for what the woman had to say. ‘Of what I have seen in the sacred flames.’ Sansa hated prophecies, fanatic priesthoods and she was done with Gods, she could receive Kinvara’s words only as a masked threat.

‘Out with it then,’ Sansa urged, wishing to be done with the priestess and the God she followed, the soonest. Ghost growled in annoyance, mirroring Sansa’s urge to bare her teeth as the woman before her irked Sansa to no end.

‘When Ice and Fire meet, blood will be spilt, fire will rain down on the world until Westeros is purged, of all the unclean and treasonous.’ Kinvara declared, clearly believing deeply in her words. Sansa nodded her head, feigning indifference, holding the weight of the words spoken off her heart.

‘Why Jon?’ she asked the only thing she wanted to know, avoiding on commenting on Kinvara’s prophecy. ‘Why did you not resurrect the Dragon Queen?’ Sansa wondered out loud, showing Kinvara she didn’t care. The priestess smiled too sweetly as she regarded Sansa this time.

‘A burren, mad conqueror? When the Heir of the Seven Kingdoms was alive and alone out there…’ Kinvara spoke the words calmly yet challengingly. ‘The Lord of Light is clear on his intention, though sometimes even his most loyal priesthood can misunderstand him.’ Kinvara added, looking deep into Sansa’s eyes. ‘Melisandre thought she was bringing Ice and Fire together, but she was wrong, it was the opposite. Daenerys and Aegon were not meant to be alive in the same world… But in death, oh yes, her death meant his life and vice versa… She wouldn’t let him survive and in order for him to live, she had to be dead. She took the world down to its knees, his duty is to lift it on his shoulders..’ Kinvara’s words were sure, proud as she spoke. ‘Balerion brought her corpse and I sought to find life in the Targaryen line, in your North, of all places. I brought back the real king and his dragon followed, as it was promised, the call of Fire in his blood singing inside after so many years being smothered in Ice…’ Kinvara added and Sansa was rescued from saying anything as she had been left speechless, wondering exactly how Jon had been bonded with Balerion and what part Daenerys’ corpse played in it all, as Jon’s voice cut through the thick atmosphere between the Queen and the Priestess.

‘Kinvara,’ the word was bit out, cutting like a swing of his sword, slicing through the numbness the red woman’s words had left in the air. Sansa looked at him as he stood rigidly at the threshold of her chambers, dressed in black, hair in a bun, circlet of power around his head, eyes dark and narrowed at the woman in red turned and looked at him. Shoulders stiffened, she curtsied to him as well, only lower than she had done with Sansa, her smile addressed to him never reaching her eyes, just like with Sansa. ‘Go.’ Jon’s single word was enough for Kinvara to be set in motion under his glare, glancing and nodding to Sansa once again before exiting the rooms. Ghost finally relaxing by Sansa’s side, sitting back on his rear legs, eyes traveling to the woman leaving as Jon made half a step from the doorway for Kinvara to slip out, making sure he didn’t touch an inch of hers on her way out.

Jon was angry, nostrils flaring, eyes closing for a moment as he took a deep breath to compose himself, he fully entered Sansa’s rooms, closing the door behind him to grant them privacy.

‘Did she insult or disrespected you?’ Jon asked brusquely. Sansa wondered why he kept the woman so close to him if he seemed so irritated by her very presence. Another path she and Jon would have to walk through in their journey of trusting and understanding each other. Sansa shook her head as Jon closed in, reaching her and taking her hand in his.

‘No, she mostly blurted nonsense about Ice and Fire.’ Sansa replied, succeeding on putting a smile upon his lips as he brought her hand to his mouth, kissing her knuckles, his eyes traveling on the direwolf on her ring.

‘Aye, she tends to do that a lot,’ He admitted and Sansa couldn’t help but chuckle at his words. She would take the questions over his annoyance from the jealousy she could have felt, if Jon had been close to Kinvara in a different way. Being jealous of him had been an exhausting game she didn’t wish to play ever again in her life, no matter how instinctively her tendencies were.

‘You want us to go to the feast together,’ Sansa pointed out, making Jon smile wider. He nodded his head, wrapping an arm around her waist, tugging her closer until their fronts were touching, he leaned in, inhaling close to her neck, planting a soft kiss there, making her suck in a breath, the memories of their heated moment upon the map table, in King’s Landing igniting warmth within her, shooting down between her legs as his hot breath brushed against her ear.

‘It would be my honor… for the woman I love to be by my side at my first appearance before the people.’ Jon’s words were easy but Sansa knew him, he wanted the support, needed her presence. She had been in his plan from the beginning, no matter what plan that was, she felt the urge to close her eyes and follow him, no matter how foolish it could be proven of her.

‘If you are to escort me, maybe Ghost could go hunting, he refuses to leave my side.’ Sansa’s voice was a whisper, almost lost as she fought the urge to wrap her arms around him and resume from where they had left in King’s Landing. No, the people were waiting. Jon smiled, turning his head and looking at the direwolf who had remained by their side, calmed but watching.

‘I could guard her door all night, boy,’ Jon tried and Ghost huffed and yawned again. ‘Bored, aren’t you?’ Jon wondered before he could focus back on Sansa. ‘I could guard the door all night, from the inside of the chamber,’ he added and Sansa this time laughed and shook her head as she turned towards the table, where her crown lay, she reached for it but Jon’s hand beat her to it. Taking the circlet with the wolves and releasing her hand to use both of his, setting the circlet upon her head. The light atmosphere turned heavy and heated as Sansa’s eyes dropped to the dragon etched on his jerkin as he set the crown of wolves upon her brow, literally as well as metaphorically a long time ago, while she had pushed his dragon claim upon him.

His hands traveled from her brow to her temples and then her cheeks, cupping her face and bringing her closer, she went willingly, lips meeting in a soft kiss of acceptance. They had screamed and yelled, tore at each other and accused one another, yet that had been the easy and cathartic part, accepting, taking each other in was the true task.

‘My Queen,’ Jon’s whispered words, hot against her lips had her eyes opening to look at him.

 _‘She was your Queen…’_ her words from their fight in King’s Landing came flooding back in her head.

 _‘But you were my love…’_ he had countered with the truth that had opened up her heart once more, ever since she was falling for him every day, harder than she had expected, all over, again and again; beyond her will or logic.

‘My love,’ his added the words had her gasping in an unrecognizable feeling, belonging, loving, adoring him had been as easy as breathing, no matter how much they changed, giving her heart away to him had been the easiest thing in her difficult life, and now that she was allowed, unashamed, it felt raw and vicious, the seer force of her feelings for him took her own breath away as she realised, once again, her heart belonged to him.

The skin of his hands was rough but his hold was gentle on her face, the only part of hers without scars of the past. Suddenly tears stung in her eyes but she fought them back bravely, there was no reason to cry, and every reason in the world.

‘My King, my Aegon,’ she chose the name carefully, he would always be Jon and he would forever be Aegon, the name didn’t matter to her while it meant the world, all she cared about was that he was hers, at last. ‘You’re mine,’ she tried the words on her tongue, happy to see the same breathless response in him, eyes roaming into hers, breaths caught in their throats, lips parted but keeping half an inch apart as the two took each other in.

Jon finally closed the whisper of space between them, arms wrapping around her, holding her closer, dear to him, Sansa did the same, they would not push each other against tables or her bed that night. Not yet, for now, they needed to realise they held each other, a silly thing really, only if they hadn’t bled so much for the seer feel of it, of each other, wrapped in one another’s arms.

‘My one, true Queen,’ the words felt reassuring to himself in her ears. She wasn’t sure what means he had used with Daenerys to persuade and pacify her. All she knew was that words had once been fake and failing from her own lips so she could save her family, then only herself.

_‘I’m loyal to my beloved Joffrey, my one true love.’_

_‘She loves you, aunt Lysa!’_

She wanted to speak the right words, the words that had rolled on her tongue so many times as lies that they had lost their meaning, the words that expressed what she had been feeling for Jon for so long. But she couldn’t speak them yet, they needed to regain their meaning upon her soul once more, she needed time.

‘My King,’ she offered in a gentle urge as she held him in her arms like he did with her slender form. Jon smiled, moving a step back after they both allowed each other’s warmth to sip through their clothes, feeling cold once parted. ‘The people wait,’ Sansa reminded both, causing Jon to nod to himself and take her hand, they were ready.

As the two made their way to the Great Hall, Sansa paused, her hand grasping Jon’s elbow, making him stop and turn, looking at her, eyes calmed, searching her own.

‘What is your plan?’ she felt the need to know what he was about to say in his address to the people. Jon smiled, stepping into her, his hand reaching up to trace her jaw with his fingers in a feather-like caress.

‘Do you have any faith in me at all?’ he echoed the words he had used in Winterfell, had he really failed her back? Now that she knew the truth his words didn’t sting anymore.

‘You know I do,’ she replied like back in the past, a constant in his life, she knew, a constant of trust and care, no matter the wounds they had inflicted on each other.

‘Come then, my Queen, they’re expecting us,’ he was more confident than ever, she couldn’t help but follow him, the tortured expression he wore during wartime was now replaced by calmed lines, he had faith in himself and she couldn’t help but have faith in him indeed.

The Great Hall of the castle -although barren of tapestries or any decoration to make it appealing- held thousands without exaggeration. People from all over Westeros stood, banging on their shields or their cups against the massive tables set to host them as Sansa and Jon entered the massive chamber. Reaching the large table, where local Lords and representatives of Noble Houses stood to welcome them in respect on a dias that overlooked the room. Banners of every color shook as their holders hit on the old paved floor in greeting.

Names, titles, cheers and shouts were heard as Sansa and Jon reached their seats, standing before them, raising already filled cups, hers with wine and Jon’s with ale. It took minutes for the noise to subside so Jon could speak to his subjects, he allowed them their time, enjoying it if Sansa could tell from the pride flickering in his eyes.

‘Westeros has suffered through the years past,’ Jon’s voice echoed through the stone chamber, he spoke loud and clear, so unlike the whispered words that had felt like smoke in her lungs, while they had been in each other’s arms before. ‘The world we need is a world of mercy and justice.’ The cheers came as the Lords’ raised their cups in support.

‘As your King, I promise you, justice and prosperity will rule the lands of Westeros.’ Jon went on, looking around him, people at the doors of the chamber were pushing through, wishing to see the new King on the dias. More were outside, even the massive Hall unable to hold everyone. ‘I did my best, I sacrificed it all to stop the Night, I stopped everyone who would harm the people in my attempt to save the Kingdoms, the people.’ Sansa enjoyed his honesty, his admission of his deeds. People did too, as they shouted his name and titles of King, Liege, his names echoed through the Hall. ‘I would give up the Northern Crown again, I would kill and stop tyrants again! And I would take my exile again if it was for Westeros to be saved!’ he almost shouted the last words, answered by the thousands around him cheering for him. Sansa couldn’t help but smile. He was a man changed indeed, a man with his life and deeds embraced, a man ready to move on.

‘I know you might be scared of my dragon and my name.’ Jon went on, people seemed quieter than before for him to speak as he mentioned the legacy that had been laced with fire and blood. ‘My dragon will serve the realm, under my command, only to defend it from external threats and internal treason.’ Jon declared, only then his eyes traveling on the Lords sitting on the high table, a promise and a threat held in his eyes. ‘As for my name…’ Jon went on, looking back at his people, glancing at Sansa for a moment. ‘Yes, monsters have been born from dragon blood. Like Maegor the First and my own grandfather Aerys the Mad King.’ Jon admitted slowly, the hall pausing at the names of tyrants past.

‘But also great leaders saw the skies of Westeros upon their dragons, like Jaehaerys the Wise and Daeron the Good.’ Jon countered his own words, making the people agree with him as the Hall echoed with their voices. ‘Raised a bastard, I know injustice and pain in the world. As a Brother of the Night’s Watch, before my death, I learnt of responsibility and duty.’ Jon raised his cup towards his people. ‘As King, brought back by the Lord of Light, I am here to protect and lead you all in justice, my responsibility and duty is to see the Kingdoms thrive, as one country, under one rule, in peace and prosperity!’ his final words were almost completely swallowed by the people’s uproar of support. Sansa was left breathless at the energy raised within the Great Hall, thuddings from feet, shields used as drums, swords swaying in the air, held tightly by knights, smallfolk and lords. She had only seen such love -only on a smaller scale- in her own coronation day, back in Winterfell.

‘All that wouldn’t have been... ‘ Jon tried to speak over the commotion, people struggled to quiet down again. ‘Without House Stark,’ Jon’s cup was turned towards Sansa whose eyes widened slightly at the open admission before everyone. ‘If it wasn’t for Arya Stark who slayed the Night King,’ people shouted in honor of the younger Stark sister. ‘And Queen Sansa’s resilience and wisdom into achieving to feed entire armies while the Night had been upon us… If it wasn’t for her uniting the people of the North who fought so valiantly along Southern and Foreign armies…’ Jon went on, giving credit not only to Westerosi men but also his sworn enemies, the Unsullied and Dothraki who had threatened war if he was to return. Sansa smothered the worry that bloomed within her at the prospect of their return. ‘If it wasn’t for Sansa Stark to hold the North intact, reinforce and keep it united and strong, ready it, the Long Night wouldn’t have been won no matter the swords and weapons and dragons gathered against it at the Northern capital.’ Jon added finally raising his cup at her, his eyes lost in her own gaze, mirth and happiness shining as she remained in shocked silence.

‘Harrenhal belonged to House Whent for many years, pledged and loyal to House Tully, then to House Stark. It’s only fair for it to return to the hands of the descendant of both houses again.’ Sansa fought the urge to speak up against the idea, if it wasn’t for Jon’s wide smile and the people’s second wave of supportive shouts, the pandemonium in the massive chamber making her finally give in, raise her cup at the idea and drink from it as Jon spoke. ‘To Queen Sansa Stark! First of Her Name, Queen in the North and Lady of Harrenhal.’ Jon called out as everyone cheered and drank from their cups and flasks around the room.

 _‘I will find a way.’_ Jon had promised her back in King’s Landing while the tears had fallen from her eyes.

Sansa fought to hide her troubled expression. Her uncle Edmure wouldn’t be ecstatic about it, nor her cousin Robin Arryn and Lord Royce. A Queen of an independent kingdom had no need or obvious reason to hold the largest -and most useless- castle in Westeros. Sansa could see what Jon was doing with this move. Everyone wished for Harrenhal during peacetime, it was all for symbolism on what she meant to him, for everyone to see, he was pushing his own agenda, opening claims for her to have a say in the Six Kingdoms by owning the castle at the heart of the Riverlands. She wasn’t sure if his council -or rather specific members in it- would be happy to hear of his decision, especially since he hadn’t claimed the North and she hadn’t abdicated yet. Her eyes searched for Kinvara, almost instinctively, finding her seemingly satisfied smile in a corner, the vial tucked in Sansa’s chest felt heavier than usual as she saw the priestess drinking from her own glass.

At Harrenhal, another Targaryen had favored a Stark, and the Kingdoms had bled for it. She couldn’t allow history to repeat itself.

She raised her own cup and the people needed moments to calm their drunk joy to listen. Jon remained standing, expectant by her side.

‘An honor my Tully blood can only rejoice with.’ Sansa called out bravely, accustomed with addressing a crowd by then. She had rearranged the entire North, pushed her will and new laws upon gruff Lords and hard to yield old people at her father’s age, she could do this, adapting to Jon’s rule like he was to adapt in her own, once they were North. ‘However I am a Stark, and I will always be a Stark.’ she added evenly. ‘I know my late Lady Mother, my dearest aunt Lysa Arryn, along my good uncle Edmure Tully whom I am to see soon at Riverrun, would be happy for me to have this honor bestowed upon me.’ Sansa added as her eyes rose for a moment towards the melted towers, seen by the semi destroyed ceiling of the ruined castle.

All about symbolism.

_‘I will find a way,’_

_‘We’ll find a way’_

_‘I promise.’_

‘Though my Kingdom is hard to cultivate, we Northerners have found made it to keep our stomachs full with food and ale.’ Sansa added, trying to bring humor and acknowledgment to the crowd, indeed many shouted in agreement as the North had been trading metal from the fallen armies, dragonglass brought by Jon and fish from the harbors Sansa had built at the southern parts, along crops and fruit made in the Neck, making the North more prosperous than ever before as the taxes of her kingdom remained within it.

‘These lands have been savaged by many wars, some made by my Stark and Tully blood alike.’ She didn’t mention Robb’s name, it was too soon for everyone, for her. ‘To help King Aegon’s dream of a prosperous Westeros, I pledge all fruit and crops from these fertile lands to remain and be freely given to the people of the Kingdoms. Controlled and fairly distributed by good people King Aegon will choose and charge with the responsibility.’ Sansa’s words were met with noise as loud as the one that greeted Jon’s words.

‘Queen Sansa the Good,’ people were screaming along ‘King Aegon the Devoted’ across the hall, echoing happily over the ruins of Harrenhal. She was holding the symbolism but throwing away all the possible reasons of accusation and conflict. A useless title in truth, so useful in the minds of people. Sansa finally drank from her cup, eyes on Jon who mirrored her action, pride shining there, for her, for both. After her four years on the Stark throne, it was refreshing and challenging to have a counterpart in the South that would actually help with the Six Kingdoms.

Taking the North from her or not, Jon was helping the realm she freed by saving the starving ones of the South. There was no peace and long lasting prosperity in the North if the South was in turmoil and at last, someone was taking care of the Six Kingdoms on a practical level, at the same time proving himself in case the Northerners decided his ways were more valuable than their independence under her rule. People cared of their survival, below or beyond the Neck, Sansa had learnt of that in her years not only as Queen but also as a presumed Bastard, as Lady Stark, Bolton and Lannister. Simple people would worship the ones pulling them out of misery and she had been loved for doing so in the North over the past years. Jon would now be loved and accepted for the same reason in the South.

The feast lasted for hours, people had brought music instruments, bards had stopped over to see the Harrenhal Gathering as people already named the day to mark its significance. Songs were being made and sung, music was playing and the food and drink were plenty. The local lords spoke of trade deals and arrangements of the lands and betrothals while the youth sang and danced.

The Queen in the North and the King of the Six Kingdoms were not excluded as Jon stood and offered his hand to Sansa, smiling down at her surprised eyes. She took his hand, not expecting he would want to dance but then again, in the feast following the battle for the Dawn, he had been happy, unable to express his joy fully under the Dragon Queen’s watchful eye, but happy nonetheless. She hadn't seen him happy many times, she wasn’t sure how he would act about it.

People scattered around and cheered as the two moved down the dias, among the people, there was no dancefloor, people danced around the massive chamber in circles opened by the crowd. The musicians close to the High table started playing a Southern volta, happy and cheerful as the violin beckoned the two to dance as they wrapped their arms around each other, holding hands and swaying quickly. Sansa realised Jon wasn’t following the steps and she didn’t care, actually laughed when he almost stepped on her toes and Jon laughed back, sheepishly before he could grasp at her waist and lift her off her feet, as easily as he did in the in past when he embraced her.

She had missed his firm hold on her, his ability to let her breathless just by holding her close. She couldn’t help but feel carefree in the moments passed in his arms, contentment falling upon them like a cloak, protecting her from everything and everyone. No politics, no priestesses sulking in the corner, weaving their own webs to trap her in, no relatives waiting in Riverrun and no Northern Lords expecting her back at the threat of War. She was Sansa and he was Jon and people clapped while the two of them danced and laughed and misstepped as their drinks made their blood sing with joy and need for each other.

The songs would speak of the happy Wolf Queen, clad in green like the shade of green the fields he gifted to her. And the Dragon King with the black clothes and dragon, the dark eyes and bright future.

No one dared to reach them to take Sansa from Jon for a dance and he didn’t look away from her once, to another lady to sway with her during the songs. They danced the night away, until Sansa was swaying exhausted and Jon was left breathless and tired. Yet their eyes were full of happiness, full of mirth and joy.

They were to retire and they did so with Jon escorting Sansa back to her chambers, almost unnoticed by the smallfolk, Lords and Ladies bid them goodnight with bows and raised cups. The guards at her door remained for the night since Ghost was out. They walked down the corridor hand in hand, it would have been so sweet if Jon was to follow her in her chambers but Harrenhal was full of people and it would have been dangerous for them to make such moves then.

The two stood before each other, the door open and the guards remaining impassive and silent. Jon smiled as she backed inside the room, Sansa didn’t want him to leave.

‘I’ll wait until Ghost is back… I’m used to sleeping with him in the room.’ Sansa couldn’t help but admit, just to fill the lingering though comfortable silence between them. Jon made a step closer, unable to stop, she remained, not pulling away as he leaned in, planting a kiss on the corner of her mouth, her skin tingling at the contact. She couldn’t sort out the torrent of emotions his kiss created, she could only enjoy the feel of it before he backed away and bid her good night, his pupils dilated, darkened, he was as affected as herself from the night spent together.

Sansa closed the door slowly, taking a deep breath, smiling as her hand lingered at the doorknob. In complete contrast with what she had been through after their first encounter at the dragonpit. Her blood hummed with wine, her thoughts barely fuzzy, skin warm and still tingling from his touch. Her dress was uncomfortably tight and hot clinging onto her, she started pulling at the laces holding her dress around her. She knew all the servants and handmaids would be busy with squires and farm boys around the ruined castle. Only the King and the Queen were to sleep alone in their respective chambers. Sansa thought with a laugh as she approached the window, opening it for fresh air to get inside, she needed to calm and wait for Ghost to return, her eyes roaming the back of the castle in hopes of seeing the white beast approaching.

Her mind sharply focused on the activity unfolding at the edge of the courtyard, within the shadows. The wheelhouse with the small windows was surrounded by guards in Targaryen colors. Sansa watched silently as they were speaking in hushed voices, one of them was opening the only door the wheelhouse had at the back. Sansa’s blood drained from her face as a man clad in tattered scraps of fabric was dragged out by the guards, he was begging, teeth missing, skin dirty and sick with wounds upon it. He seemed as if taken straight from the slums of King’s Landing or the Red Keep’s dungeons.

Sansa watched without a trace of fuzziness as the guards dragged him at the edge of the courtyard and out in the small path leading out of Harrenhal’s walls while his skinny hands grasped at their armors, begging for his life until they practically dragged him on. Sansa’s heart skipped a beat as the silence that followed for several moments was splintered by Balerion’s screech in the distance, piercing through the night as another screech was heard closer.

Sansa’s eyes drifted close in dread as she heard the dragon’s flapping wings, the thud of the beast’s landing yards away. The distant screaming of the man was heart-wretching. She squinted in effort to see in the darkness surrounding the castle but she couldn’t see anything but a massive figure on the ground shifting. She watched with her breath hitched in her throat until it flew back up in the sky a while later, the guards returned, silent and without the ragged man among them.

Sansa shut the window with her trembling fingers unable to bar it, she abandoned the task after a few moments, her hands raking her face and over her head, where she pulled at the pins holding her hair painfully on her skull after so many hours. She tossed the pins away, fighting back a sob as she realised what Jon was doing with the dragon. Wondering when or if he would ever tell her what they carried with them in their journey.

 _‘The world we need is a world of mercy…’_ the irony of his words came back to mock her, making her realise his mercy wouldn’t include everyone.

She collapsed on the bed, the dress forgotten on her as angry tears trailed down her cheeks. She hated the cruelty, the means Jon adopted to keep the dragon. She hated the struggle she felt on accepting all these new aspects of his when she accepted him so effortlessly in the core of who he was. She hated the dragon and the priestess and everything Jon had done and had been doing to maintain a legacy that was dripping with blood.

Her first sob tore through her lips, followed by many more as they shook Sansa who let out all the frustration that had been built within her from the moment she set eyes on the melted towers of Harrenhal. The castle that now belonged to her, melted by dragons of the past, she thought bitterly, wondering how much of her own legacy this dragon would burn down at the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oook! so many things happened! Harrenhal is one of the chapters I wanted to make from the beginning, these two need to find balance and it keeps slipping from their grasp, I hope you enjoyed their carefree time together, the political side of theirs and their maneuvers.  
> Kinvara.... stay away from Sansa, you and your bloody prophecies!  
> We saw what the wheelhouse has inside.... live food for the dragon... ouch  
> "the world we need is a world of mercy" is what Jon said to Dany in their final scene and I had to add it although Sansa couldn't possibly know the weight of his word's meaning.  
> You liked it? you hated it?  
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter, comments are love and inspiration! <3


	14. Jon VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one of the chapters I wanted to make since I got the idea for this story, so glad it ended up being chapter 14 because my initial idea was too simple but now I'm satisfied with it.  
> Huge thanks to SainTalia for her points on the story, making me think harder on it is such a challenging and beautiful thing  
> A massive chapter finished at 4am, please forgive any errors.  
> Enjoy....

_Chapter Fourteen - Jon VII_

__

_"What is honor compared to a woman’s love? What is duty against the feel of a newborn son in your arms... or the memory of a brother’s smile? Wind and words. Wind and words. We are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love. That is our great glory, and our great tragedy."_

Rain and wind were blowing against the tent Jon occupied. He sighed as his eyes roamed over the lines on the parchment; under the candlelight that flickered and danced, he crumbled the letter in his palm.

_The idea should be to take the North from Sansa Stark, not pledge to her your lands, my liege… I beseech you, consult me before reaching Riverrun…_

_She’s an unwed woman, ruling over the lands you own by right, the lands that once had named you King. You must act swiftly no matter the possible favor you feel due to your shared blood and past together…_

_Westeros deserves its King in all Seven Kingdoms…._

Manfrey was furious with him over Harrenhal, Jon had expected so, he was testing the man’s boundaries, attempting to see how, if Martell was to react politically at all. What Jon hadn’t expected was Sansa’s coldness over his gift to her. He had expected her surprise but he knew well the significance of Harrenhal, practically no power resided over the massive ruin, only the symbolism of it. She maneuvered the gesture quickly, offering the crops of the fields around it to Westeros and Jon had been pleasantly right on thinking she would do such a thing. Yet he hadn’t expected her to turn cold and angry at him. He had only hoped to avoid her worry and over-analyzing of the move but now he was regretting his one-sided action as it had clearly annoyed her.

Deep down, Jon had hoped she would even be happy to have such a fortress gifted to her, useless or not it had indeed belonged to her maternal family, Robb had once been there. Besides, what can you give to a Queen that has it all? Only your respect and power over the biggest castle ever built in the continent, and yet she was distant ever since they departed Harrenhal, spoke rarely and suddenly got a liking for her wheelhouse instead of horse riding next to him.

He had known how she reacted when angry, her coldness could only match the North’s. He would have preferred her Tully temper instead of that Stark frost and gruffness. The temper he could match with his own, but that silent treatment was driving him crazy, always had.

He had smothered the hurt too, one night they were dancing as if only these two existed in the world, the next day she was flinching at his touch, moving away and speaking the minimum and only when someone might have been watching. He had suppressed his desires too, the feel of her skin under his fingertips, her hand through his hair, her sweet lips, her kiss tasted like the sweetest poison. Jon only grew more frustrated as he struggled to think what happened, wondering if it would always be like that, they still lacked communication, something they lost after his invitation from Daenerys to go to Dragonstone. Now he felt angry at Sansa for not telling him what happened, leaving him to his assumptions and he was feeling guilty for not preparing her with the gift of Harrenhal before the feast, when she stopped him and tried to reassure herself they weren’t to be involved in a dangerous political move. Yet, he had disappointed her he could see now, lost in his own need to give her what she deserved if not more and although she had been happy at first, by the next dawn she had set up her mind on being angry with him and he couldn’t stomach her ire.

Ever since they left Harrenhal she was using the same strategy as in King’s Landing, avoiding him, never showing up to break fast or dine with him, even though their tents were practically installed next to each other during every stop. Even in Winterfell, when he had brought the Dragon Queen there, Sansa at least attempted smalltalk, either to face him for his actions or drink with him while in a feast. But now she was older, the walls she had built for herself in the past four years had only reinforced the steel her spine was made of.

With her own anger, Martell’s opposing letter, along Davos’ worried response to the news in a seperate one, Jon wondered if he had indeed made a mistake of giving her Harrenhal. He would soon be among the Tullys and Arryns, slowly he was entering her domain although the Riverlands and the Vale belonged to him officially. The Knights had answered her call in the past and for the people at the Neck, she was family and that was sacred.

_Family Duty Honor_

Apart from Sansa Jon had no family, his duty had been set by himself as a moral compass over the subjective view he had of honor after all he had been through. Maybe he had spent too much time on his own in Valyria, only with Kinvara as a councilor, the only person urging him on and on to take what was presumably his. But was the priestess to blame on filling him with the righteousness to play the game on his own.

Hadn’t he played on his own ever since he returned from Dragonstone?

_‘I told you we needed allies,’_

_‘You didn’t tell me you’d abandoned your crown…’_

That old conversation echoed in his mind as he brought his fist with the crumbled letter to his lips, pushing against his mouth in frustrated contemplation. He had hoped he had done the best for her in both cases, _for them_ and he had been rewarded with silent acrimony and avoidance, _rightly_ , he came to realise as the uneasy truth cloaked his chest heavily.

The foods before him were turning cold, just like his own appetite. He had asked one of Sansa’s guards to inform her of him expecting her for dinner. His eyes climbed from her favorite lemon cakes -on the plate closest to where she would sit if she accepted him- to the canopy of the tent shifting as Kinvara entered the pavilion and bowed to Jon who huffed in anger.

The Priestess was not to blame for his own political -and personal- mistakes but she was to blame for not listening to his orders. She was swaying closer with her smug smirk, reaching for one of the lemon cakes when Jon darted from his chair, grasping her forearm before she could touch anything, pushing her away from the table and bringing her closer to him so they could be in eye level.

‘I told you to stay away from Sansa.’ His voice was a furious gruff sound as he shook Kinvara in his arms, his temper rising. Had she said something to Sansa, making her see things differently? ‘And I found you in her chambers, disobeying my orders.’ Jon growled, causing Kinvara to flinch at whatever she saw in his eyes. He had been patient, tolerant with Kinvara for years already, he was done playing her games.

‘You need me,’ Kinvara struggled to remain unaffected, Jon could see, he could also see the fear flickering in those all-seeing eyes of hers. ‘You need to establish your rule. Faith and the Crown are the only things holding this world together.’ Kinvara’s words were spat at him pointedly.

‘In Valyria, you and I made an agreement.’ Jon reminded her angrily. He had been asking about Sansa for years, Kinvara had forgotten to tell him about Rickard, about Cley Cerwyd and she had only informed him it was time for them to reach Westeros when Bran was sick. Jon hadn’t forgotten her missteps and hidden truths, nor the lies she probably had him believing for so long. He was done being fooled, he had held his tongue -and sword- only because he indeed had made an agreement and for now, she was useful. ‘Play your trick games with others, use faith through your priests and spies, but keep out of my and Sansa’s way, otherwise-’

‘Otherwise what, Aegon? You’ll kill our Lord’s most devoted High Priestess?’ Kinvara spat back, her eyes wild. Ever since he walked out of that ritual pyre, their relationship had been one of sufferance. He would take back the lands he deserved under his crown, she would spread and establish the faith of the Lord upon them, securing his reign as he was the personification of the Lord’s existence and greatness, through the last Dragon’s heritage of fire and blood.

‘I just might,’ Jon barked back, his hands bruisingly tight around her arm. He could see the shock in her eyes for the blasphemy in his words. And he was sure she could see the fear in his own eyes, he feared her over how far she could go over her devotion in the Lord of Light, he feared what she could do to Sansa if she decided his love didn’t suit her plans. Fearing over Sansa’s safety had been that old bile he had killed and destroyed to take down. He couldn’t let it resurface now, not when Sansa -angry at him or not- was so close to him, with him. Jon felt the seething urge to stop Kinvara before it was too late, like he had done with Daenerys.

‘Jon…’ Sansa’s voice -her very presence- was probably the strongest shield against Jon’s impulses. She had stopped him from finishing Ramsey, she had stopped him from harming Gendry in the tunnel of the Dragonpit, now she was stopping him from turning on his own chosen allies. His heated gaze turned towards the woman he loved, standing inside the tent, her own gaze was clouded with what Jon hated to admit, was fear. She took in the scene with her eyes as Jon let go of Kinvara who glared at him and bowed in silence, before she could turn and to Jon’s sick twist of his stomach smile at Sansa and exit the tent without a glance behind her.

Jon took a deep breath as he raked a hand through his hair, frustrated at how close Kinvara was etching and how far Sansa was falling, both driven by his actions. Sansa remained silent, giving him time to speak, either to excuse himself or apologise, Jon wasn’t sure.

‘You answered my invitation,’ Jon decided to point out softly, wishing he could smile if it wasn’t for her solemn face.

‘Not for dinner, I’m not hungry for days now. I’m here to talk with you.’ Sansa’s words were curt though honest and Jon’s brows plunged into a frown of concern. Was she unwell? Had her odd behaviour to do with her health? Was the trip too hard on her?

‘Are you sick?’ Jon’s voice was laced with worry, they needed two days to reach Riverrun, he was sure there would be a Maester there. He could ride with her faster there if she felt so unwell, let the procession move behind them.

‘I am,’ Sansa admitted angrily. ‘Of you keeping me out of all this grand plan of yours, of you speaking of a world of mercy and then feeding people we've been dragging like cattle for your bloody dragon to eat!’ she blurted out the words that had him drowned in silence at the seer force of them, the desperation and anger they held. His mind raced, trying to find a way to explain to her how Harrenhal had been a gift made with good intentions, how he hadn’t wished to trouble her over Balerion as she had clearly been uncomfortable with his dragon following them.

‘About Harrenhal, I only wanted to-’ Jon tried but the Tully temper took over as she huffed and moved further in the tent, though keeping her distance from Jon.

‘ _That_ won’t happen again. Next time you will let me know before you make a political move that involves me!’ she declared angrily. ‘I am used on people trying to pull and push me towards their own political games, how do you think I have survived as a Queen in the North while-’

‘I never meant to pull or push you into anything I just wanted t-’

‘What drives me crazy is that you’ve been feeding people to your fucking beast.’ Sansa’s curse had his eyes widening momentary, even in her fury while Daenerys had been in Winterfell, she had kept her tongue during their conversations. Indeed she had changed, he could see it clearly as she snarled the words now, heaving with breaths. ‘Why not animals, what do dragons eat anyway?’ Sansa’s voice was rising into being audible from outside the tent, despite the storm that was ravaging it, Jon was sure, he didn’t care, he would take the wrath, he would take her reaction instead of her impassive silence. A part of him was frightened to explain to her, another was excited at her outburst, rejuvenating him.

‘You had been worried when the armies and the dragons had reached the North.’ Jon tried to explain, his mind racing to find the write words, Sansa scoffed, hands crossing over her chest.

‘Why not cattle?’ she asked slowly in a shout as if Jon was incapable of understanding her words. He took a deep breath and looked deep into her eyes.

‘Even if he was to eat animals, he would be eating valuable cattle animals across the kingdoms…’ Jon tried to explain, seeing the moment was coming. Sansa frowned, clearly seeing through the words.

‘He’s not to eat animals? He was when the Dragon Queen was in the North, I had reports of him and the other one attacking cattle.’ Sansa was struggling to see if Jon was lying to her, he could see her struggle and wondered what he would see in her eyes once she knew of the true nature of Balerion by now.

‘He can eat only human flesh now.’ Jon didn’t want to scare her, he didn’t want to see the repulse in her eyes. He knew he was taking away the chance for her to understand and comprehend the truth of his change, but he was also protecting her -if not himself as well- from the pain of it.

‘So we’re carrying human flesh with us now for him?’ Sansa was disgusted at the notion, he could see, he wanted to explain to her but she was obviously ready to vent over the things she somehow had seen in Harrenhal. He had hoped Balerion would have been fed in secrecy, an audience would have made things complicated, he didn’t mean to terrify the people every time the dragon needed food. Balerion was to be Jon’s means to keep justice in the world, that’s why Tyrion Lannister had been fed to him publicly but that was that and unless necessary, commanding his dragons on eating the much needed human flesh was something Jon could manage privately. ‘The poor man was begging for his life, screaming until the last moment!’ Sansa’s voice was breaking at the memory of the scene she had witnessed. Jon sighed, opening his mouth to speak before she could outburst once again, causing him to seal his lips.

‘How could you think this was something I would agree to?’ Sansa finally bellowed, the storm outside matching her temper as lightning rumbled, illuminating the scene momentary, causing her firekissed hair to go pale for a moment. ‘That’s why you kept me in the dark about it?’ Sansa asked, unaffected by the chaos outside. Jon tried to speak this time, calling her name in an attempt to pause her.

‘Sansa…’

‘Well think twice, Aegon Targaryen! Keeping secrets from me is not you finding a way for us to be together!’ Sansa screamed, using his name more and more effortlessly, he couldn’t help but notice, although this time, like before, his name had been used as a spat of venom his way. ‘It will have the opposite result!‘

‘Sansa, listen to me,’ Jon tried again, fighting the urge to shout the truth, that old wound of losing trust in each other opening and bleeding again. He wanted her to trust him, she wanted a motive for doing so. ‘Was he taken from the slums of King’s Landing? The rest of them too in that bloody cage you have locked in? Had he had any family? Children? A wife?!’ Sansa was unable to stop, he could see her shaking with grief and acrimony. Jon pinched at the bridge of his nose, it hurt, the fact of her thinking he would drag poor, helpless people, the ones he wished to feed and pull out of their misery as live food for Balerion. ‘He was screaming for his life, Jon!’ her voice this time broke and he lowered his hand from his face to see the tears running down her own.

‘I chose them personally from the dungeons in King’s Landing.’ Jon finally replied, Sansa stood speechless and stunned as he started speaking. ‘All of them were sentenced to death for their proven crimes. I looked on the names and crimes, and decided who did the most hideous things to have such an end. I announced to them the way they are to die, the order in which each will go. One every half moon, as Balerion needs to eat frequently and humans are small meals but essential to him.’ Jon went on as he found the chance now that Sansa had fallen silent, still heaving in her heavy woolen grey dress. ‘I took enough of them to ensure Balerion won’t eat anyone on the way North and back to King’s Landing.’ Jon was explaining during Sansa’s silence. ‘He’s bound to my command and will, but he’s a dragon, Sansa. A human-eating dragon, he had once got out of hand and control. I had to ensure he would be loyal to me through will and not those infamous Targaryen-dragons family ties.’ he was revealing more of how he and the dragon co-existed and he truly hoped she wasn’t getting more repulsed. Maybe his actions were inexcusable to her, but this was the truth and she had come seeking for it.

‘The man you saw begging at Harrenhal… His name was Ben Taylor, he mutilated his pregnant wife at the suspicion of infidelity…’ Jon’s words had Sansa gasp, she had clearly cried and griefed over yet another monster. ‘That wheelhouse is full of murderers, child molesters, rapists and scum that instead of going down painlessly and quickly by sword, they can at least serve one purpose in punishment for their awful crimes…’ Jon added, looking deep into her pained eyes.

‘Don’t you think? This will be a world of mercy, Sansa.’ he challenged softly, stepping into her. ‘Practical problems will have practical solutions but justice will be served too…’ Jon finally took another deep breath. He could see the recognition in her eyes. Ever since she had moved out of the kennels and had joined him into burying Rickon in the crypts of Winterfell, she hadn’t spoken, implied, whispered or referred to Ramsey Bolton ever again.Yet he had known what she had orchestrated down there, he had heard the fucking bastard’s screams and his dogs had been put down days later, too accustomed to human flesh for anyone in Winterfell to be safe of them each time they went hungry. But Jon had known very well which was their final meal… It was why he had pushed the kill to her. She had deserved to do whatever she had pleased with that monster, now matter how much of a monster she had turned into herself for sentencing him to that kind of death. Inspired by her own actions, Jon had chosen to do the same with Balerion as to solve the problem of his feeding.

Jon understood her shock, dogs are familiar beasts, dragons are mythical monsters. But the meaning of the action, the result of it were the same. They were more alike than they would like to admit, Jon and Sansa. The world had molded them to what they were today, that little bird who loved songs of Dragonknights, that bastard boy, raised with his highborn siblings, pretending to be a Dragonknight. Now they were a wolf and a dragon and apart from the hurt lacing the acceptance they needed of each other, they were equally alike, for better or for worse.

Sansa remained silent, regarding Jon’s words, him, she took a deep breath, trying to compromise with another fact she had to deal with.

‘Why never say a word?’ she inquired, this time much more softly, calmer. He could have answered with a challenge of why she didn’t tell him things that considered him, back in the past, the Knights of the Vale, the revelation of his parentage, Peter Baelish, Rickard Stark and why she had him now. But he stood but what he once had told her -even though he failed himself to follow his lead- they needed to trust each other, with enemies around or not, they had to find a way. Otherwise they would turn to each other’s enemies and the kingdoms would kneel under the strain of their animosity, of their failed love.

‘Honestly? Because I didn’t want to burden you with things that have to do with a creature I know you don’t like. With practices that I know that even if you used yourself once, were not become of you. Because I will defend Balerion’s existence and his bond to me. Like I am sure you keep Ghost around Rickard while maids and septas are afraid of the beast around a baby boy…Because you have a bond with him, like the one I used to have with him.’ Jon was honest, Sansa scoffed halfheartedly, struggling to keep a grudge, but it was slipping through her fingers, her heart, Jon could see, leaving behind exhaustion.

She had to learn to trust him, he had to learn to be trustworthy. He had to let her into his darkest aspects, she had to embrace them.

‘I should go,’ her guard collapsed only for a moment, baring herself for him to see the struggle that was going on within him as well. He tried to approach her as she reached the opening of the tent.

‘Don’t walk away from me, Sansa, please.’ he practically begged, reaching for her elbow as the wind outside howled. He needed her close, just like she did, although it was hard to breathe around each other at times. She turned and looked deep into his eyes, the storm breaking in there was mind numbing.

‘Within weeks, you returned, I thought you dead for years, Jon. I was to bury my last sibling and you came back, on a dragon, with a foreigner by your side, igniting everything that I had been feeling for you.’ Sansa’s voice was tired, yet firm and calm. ‘All the things I had tried to bury after I assumed you were gone. All the things you had done had a completely different reasoning from the one I had in mind for years.’ Sansa added, taking a deep breath, looking down at his gentle hold on her elbow. ‘Now you’re back. same face, same soul, same voice… Yet, you’re so different, your actions sometimes were reckless, like mine, now they are ruthless, like mine. I need time to accept all this, while you keep me from knowing things about you, while I know I am safe with you, we act like the most intimate strangers.’ Sansa held onto his grasp with her free hand, freeing herself. Jon felt as if a part of him was being ripped away from him. ‘And that is exhausting, isn’t it?’ Sansa wondered softly as she let go of Jon’s hand. He remained idle and silent, understanding her more than any other living soul in the world.

They remained frozen for an endless moment, taking each other in before Sansa could give a tiny nod to herself and exit the tent, this time unstopped by Jon who let her go. Not finding a word strong enough to keep her to him.

He remained rooted on his spot, not sure how long before he collapsed back on his chair, thinking of all the things they had spoken to each other about, and all the things they still had to vocalise. The storm had ebbed awhile back, leaving the place in wet silence. Only then, Jon noticed the noise from outside, muffled but close, compelling him to his feet and out to the muddy encampment.

The sound of her voice was clearer as he stood outside, Jon had heard her screaming before, during their quest of finding allies to take back Winterfell. The same cold shiver dripped down his spine at the sound of her agony. Back then, he had hesitated, tormented by the sound of her night terrors and his own confusing shame over entering his sister’s quarters to comfort her in her bed. Now it was different, he wasn’t her bastard half-brother, he was her love, at least of that, they were both sure and ready to build upon.

Jon entered Sansa’s tent only to find Ghost trying to sniff his way into waking her as she writhed on her side of the cot she was sleeping in, one hand clutching under her pillow while the other remained frozen on her side. Ghost growled in surprise but backstepped as Jon rushed closer to Sansa’s sleeping form, bowing down, his hands on her brow and her forearm, shaking her lightly. The scent of the wet earth mingled with lavender and mint in his nostrils as he tried to shake her again.

‘Sansa… wake up, it’s just a nightmare, please wake up.’ he tried as her face contorted into a frown of discomfort, a whimper of pain escaping her lips before her eyes could snap open, a sharp intake of breath was all she could manage. Her gaze was still hazy as she caught sight of him with the corner of her eye. Jon didn’t have the time to react as she pulled her hand from under her pillow, rushing the dagger to his throat, stopping her by grasping her hand before she cut into his windpipe. Sansa only grazed the blade against the taught skin of his throat as Jon jerked in reflex, avoiding the dagger as Sansa’s eyes filled with realisation and horror, her gasping lips turning into an ‘o’ shape as she threw the dagger away to inspect the small scratch she had inflicted upon him.

‘Jon, I’m so sorry, what are you-’

‘When did you get so swift with a dagger?’ he wondered, still in surprise, he didn’t even feel the breakage of his skin, overshadowed by his surprise, his eyes fell on the weapon, he knew that dagger. He had glimpsed into her sleeping while in King’s Landing, how she had slept on her side while holding onto something under her pillow. As he had entered the tent, beckoned by her suffering, he hadn’t thought of the danger before his need to wake her and rid her of her terrors, he certainly hadn’t expected her to know how to use whatever weapon she had under her pillow. He was clearly mistaken, to his pleasant surprise, indeed, she wasn’t a little girl anymore, she would be her own last defense and he was fiercely proud of that.

‘Arya…’ Sansa explained with one word, her eyes still inspecting the cut. Only when she made sure he was alright, she sat back properly on her cot, making space for him to sit down as well as she ran her hands through her sweaty face, taking a deep breath to calm herself. Jon watched her silently, how she composed herself the fastest she could. He reached on the floor, taking the dagger in his hands and bringing it back on the cot. Valyrian Steel, that elaborate handle.

‘Arya,’ Jon echoed the name of the girl they both considered a sister. Sansa nodded, looking back at him with a sigh. ‘We haven’t talked about many things. You were right about that before…So many things between us are vague.’ Jon added, he wasn’t sure if this was the best time. Maybe it was the worst, maybe he should apologise for trying to save her from a nightmare and she would dutifully apologise for going for his throat, plunging the kingdoms into chaos if she had pushed the dagger across his throat, and call it a night. But Jon felt Sansa was as ready as him, otherwise nightmares would keep returning, for the both of them.

‘I thought you would have asked sooner about her.’ Sansa admitted, indeed he had let go of Rickard’s matter on the side for a few days, focusing on her, their trip and blossoming change. She was right, he had been back and their world had shifted so much they barely recognized it now. ‘She taught me to yield a dagger when she let Rickard to me. She knew I would have the entire North defending him, and even if it was to fall, I would be his very last defense.’ Sansa added and Jon took the words in, nodding slowly.

‘So she returned North,’ Jon assumed, Sansa nodded, looking away, the sorrow in her eyes had him bracing himself for what was to come.

‘She did, with a babe in her belly and she left again, once that babe was born and put in my arms. She also left this for her son.’ Sansa added, her fingertips caressing the blade, Jon sighed, causing Sansa to look at him for a long moment, her eyes travelling on the scratch of his neck. ‘During that day at the docs, after she told you she would go West…After you left for the Wall, Arya showed me her neck.’ Sansa’s words were calm, telling a tale not many knew, Jon was sure.

‘When she went for the Night King, he held her by the throat. I don’t know exactly how she finished him, but it happened before she killed him. She wanted to go West to find a cure, she knew here and in Essos, no cure existed but she didn’t want to torture you with the truth while going to exile.’ Sansa’s words hurt, so deep inside Jon’s heart that he gasped at them. He had spent the past years hoping Arya was living the life of her dreams, creating her own path in the world, he had been mistaken. ‘During those days in King’s Landing, she was with Gendry, during those days, the skin of her neck started burning. Then she left, she didn’t know she was with child… When she went to Storm’s end, halfway in her pregnancy, she found out that Gendry was getting married into an arranged union with Mylla Errol. It would have been that or the Stormlands were to rebel against Robert’s bastard when they had lost Renly and Stannis Baratheon…’ Sansa’s words had Jon bowing his head, the Starks didn’t seem able to find peace, no matter how hard they tried.

‘She sailed North, by the time she reached me in Winterfell her belly was huge and her neck rotting. She kept on rambling that the Night King’s touch was weakening her while she held life inside her. The labour itself almost took her. She was bleeding for days, she told me the truth of the baby’s father, gave Rickard to me to name, legitimise and raise. She didn’t want Rickard to be another motherless bastard and neither did I.’ Sansa’s words were turned into painful whispers as she recalled the past with her sister.

‘Then, one day she grew stronger until she recovered from childbed fever, although I begged her to stay, she had to go find a cure for herself, her neck hadn’t improved much. She promised she’d be back, some day. She asked me to tell her son tales of his mother and his father, but she pledged him to me as my own. She never asked to become my Heiress when I declared the North independent and myself its Queen. Yet, she gave me an heir to solidify my throne when she knew I wouldn’t want children while Gendry having another bastard would only endanger him and the boy down there. I didn’t want Rickard raised by Gendry and Mylla like you were raised in Winterfell.’ Sansa’s words were met with Jon’s hands reaching for her face, tugging her for a kiss on her forehead as she spoke through the tears that were falling freely by then, her own hands holding onto him for support. ‘That’s why I named him after our grandfather instead our father. I wouldn’t keep secrets to the poor boy, I wouldn't have him through the agony you went through. He wouldn’t be raised a bastard at Storm’s End when he could be a Prince in the North.’

‘But I wanted to be honorable with my duty and family. I sent a raven to Gendry, informing him of the birth of his son long before the North could buzz with the existence of a son of mine when no one had seen my belly growing heavy with child.’ Sansa’s eyes fell on her hands upon her lap, sniffing through the tears. ‘I knew Gendry was in a dire position with his own kingdom but he replied to me only months later, only after his wife and baby daughter were lost on childbed after a premature labour. I had already legitimised Rickard as mine when Gendry was claiming him for his own. Arya sworn me to keep him North, to raise him as mine and I intend to do exactly that.’ Sansa was determined. Jon could see she had fought for that boy with a love and possessiveness only a mother could display. Oddly, Jon remembered Catelyn Stark, she hadn’t been a good mother to him, but she had been fiercely protective of her Starklings.

‘That’s why I rebuilt Moat Cailin for him, that’s why apart from nursing him, I have given him all my love, that’s why I was so desperate to go back home, to him. Brienne is from the Stormlands, she sworn to protect him the night I reached King’s Landing to witness Bran’s passing. Until Arya is back, if she ever comes back, Rickard is mine.’ Sansa’s words were final, deadpanned over a struggle she had been through too many times over, Jon could see. He felt the hot pang of guilt tearing through his heart, in all this, he had contributed to her staying in King’s Landing without her will when she only wanted to go to their nephew she loved so much. He was also painfully realising there was no way of Sansa returning to King’s Landing, maybe, once they reached the North, it was a dead end for them.

‘Sansa…’ Jon tried to console her, somehow, his thumbs took away the tears, while he leaned in, kissing her lips softly. She was warm and sweet and tired and he just wanted to wrap her in his arms and never let her feel pain again.

‘Jon… Why Balerion doesn’t eat animals?’ she asked, snapping him out of his protective thoughts, channeling the conversation on him. She had opened up to him, the painful past on her part was exposed, now it was time for his. Now it was time for him to let her know, to give her the choice to accept him as he was.

‘Ghost reached you after he sensed my change, up North. He left because he sensed the dragon quickening inside me long before I knew it was coming.’ Jon spoke, glancing at the beast inside the tent who remained silent, watching them relaxed on his rear legs. By then, the direwolf was trusting Jon to be around Sansa. He spoke the words, explaining about the beast within the winged beast under his command, Sansa understood and remained silent for him to speak.

‘After Kinvara found me… while he was still Drogon, he and I were involved in a ritual of fire and blood in Valyria.’ Jon started, gulping down as Sansa watched him carefully. ‘The remains of Daenerys were used, for him to be released from his connection with her, for me to fully return from my resurrection back at Castle Black... Drogon was her child, I was her nephew… I know it’s repulsive, disgusting but-’ Jon tried to pause, looking at Sansa’s expressionless face.

‘Keep talking,’ Sansa urged if not commanded, at last taking the truth she deserved over his return.

‘When we were done with it, we were both changed, he was bound to me, I was bound to him and he changed, just like I did.’ Jon explained the best he could, that ritual had been a painful purge of his soul, mind and body and so it had been for the dragon. ‘It wasn’t just his name that changed, Sansa… He’s now eating only human flesh, feeds on blood while he’s fire incarnate.’ Jon’s voice trailed off at the last part, looking at her in worry as she remained silent.

‘When I revealed your name to Tyrion… I never expected Fire and Blood could go so far…or so literal. ’ Sansa finally commented, he rumbled a relieved laugh, she smiled. ‘It’s indeed repulsive but I have known repulsive… fed repulsive to hounds and it would have been hypocritical of me to play judge now.’ Sansa added, causing Jon to exhale as violent relief swept through him.

Another step had been made, a leap forward, toward each other as they had opened a little more over their family, their duties and their sense of honor.

‘I wish I had been here when you needed me, even before that.’ Jon offered in a soft voice, laced with sadness as his hands slipped from her face to her jaw and neck, keeping her close as he kissed her lips tenderly.

‘You are now,’ Sansa whispered confidently against his lips when the kiss was broken.

‘I am now,’ Jon confirmed, his eyes focusing on her as they breathed as one. ‘I am now and forever.’ he promised and Sansa’s arms wrapped around his shoulders, moving the dagger away for her to climb on his lap as Jon held her to him. Only then realising she was only in a shift, Sansa’s thighs were exposed as one of his hands rested on the back of her neck while the other traveled up her long legs. His fingertips caressing the scars he had momentarily glimpsed at while they had been against the map table in King’s Landing.

Jon pulled her into another hot kiss, devoid of doubts and fears, they both tangled themselves into a dance of caressing, gasping and kissing. Jon’s hands moved further up her thigh but Sansa stopped him from lifting the shift any further, he looked at her with calm eyes.

‘I’ve never… with Cley, I never took off the shift…’ she was blushing and his chest was aching at the doubt in her crystal blue gaze, at the hesitation and shame of her confession, and the reason behind it. Jon hadn’t been her first, nor her second, but he would be Sansa’s last lover, the man who would take every ruined piece and fix it back into place, scarred or not, he would make it alright, all of it, all of her and then he would keep her for him, forever.

‘Let me see you, I beg you, my beautiful Sansa.’ his voice was hoarse, full of need and fire for her. He was painfully burning within his jerkin, tunic and breeches but all this tonight was for her. His need for her flared inside him, making him gasp as she moved off his lap only to stand between his thighs, heaving as much as he did, hands trembling as his own traveled up to her hips. His eyes flickering over every inch of skin exposed as she lifted the shift bravely before him.

He struggled to piece together everything at once, her name escaping his lips in a whisper of awe and desire. Her perfect figure, perfect waist and full breasts, nipples already hardened under his gaze and in the crisp of the night. The scent of lavender and mint was emitted from her skin, the jar she had been carrying with her, the thought came rushing in, the remains of the paste still lingering on the countless small and large scars upon her skin. Her smallclothes hiding the treasure between her legs. His hands were tentative, careful, gingerly traveling from Sansa’s hips to her stomach, where a deep slice lay across her navel. His lips reached for the fainted scar, brushing over the raised stripe, making her whimper and shiver in his arms as Sansa’s hands wrapped around his shoulders, caressing his untidy curls.

‘Jon…’ his name was music to his ear, he didn’t care which name she was to use on him as long as she used it in that voice, intimate and breathless and so full of lust, of life.

‘Does any of them still hurt?’ he wanted to make sure this would be all pleasure for her. She shook her head, eyes warming at the consideration.

‘No, they’re just ugly.’ Sansa’s voice was low, true only in her own ears. He shook his own head this time, licking at the line across her navel, making her squirm and laugh, ticklish, he loved that.

‘No they’re not,’ he countered matter of factly. He had scars too, metals of betrayal and pain, when they were different people. Now these were the only remainers of that past. Jon and Sansa would carry them proudly as they ascended to their full potential.

He tugged her at him gently, needing more, so much more as his fingertips traveled over every spot on her skin, smooth or hardened, raised or hollow on her front or her back, he would worship her like no other man ever worshiped a woman, peasant or Queen. He would give her everything and even more, whatever she desired because she was his and at last, nothing was separating them.

His lips moved further up, kissing his way to her right breast before he could give open mouthed kisses on his way there until he engulfed her nipple, causing her knees to buck and a moan to escape her lips and rush straight to his cock.

‘Aegon…’ this time she whimpered the name, her eyes as hazy and clouded as her mind, he was sure. He could only moan desperately at her, sucking at her nipple while his hand tugged at her smallclothes, needing more, needing to hear his names painted with desire in her voice again and again until they were one.

‘So very beautiful,’ he gasped against her breast, releasing her nipple only to blow at it, making her shiver and groan this time. Sansa was loud and he loved that, his cock even more as he fought the urge to simply take her down to her cot and have her right then and there. No, this was about her, about her scars and her body and her liberation. His own need would follow once she was ready and willing to fulfill it.

He allowed his hands once again to roam over her body, knead, caress and enjoy, her back where long lines travelled down from her shoulders to her hips, her sides where burns and peeled off skin were creating caves and her front with cuts. He reached for the laces of her smallclothes and looked up at her. He was sweaty and she was pulling at his jerkin desperately before both could pause and look at each other for a moment of confirmation from both sides.

‘Sansa…’ he smiled as the sound of her name had her sighing in a falling fight for composure. ‘Let me love you, let me…’ he trailed off as he pulled at the laces and she nodded, hair wild from the nightmare and their encounter so far, cascades of copper were falling to her back, her eyes a clouded blue as her final piece of clothing was slipping down her lengthy legs, the blush that bloomed across her cheeks could only be matched by the scarlet curls between her milky thighs.

Jon wetted his lips with his tongue, hiking one of her legs over his shoulder, making her gasp in surprise as he held at her until she found her balance. His strong arm wrapping around her, holding her steady as the other moved beneath her, parting her folds for his tongue to reach and taste her clit.

Sansa’s eyes widened and a whimper escaped her lips, unable to hold back if he judged by the tremor that shook her. She was surprised, shocked but also in need, he could tell by how wet she already was for him, her thighs slick against his cheeks as he moved further down her slit, holding her to him as he lapped at her entrance before he could lick his way back up to her bundle of nerves to suck at it gently.

She was tugging at his hair desperately, holding onto him for balance as her body exploded into heat. Warm, breathing heavily, _trembling_ through a pleasure in life Jon would commit himself to giving her every chance he got.

‘Say my name,’ he growled against her cunt before he could bite gently, challengingly at the inside of her thigh, her head falling back in shock and pleasure, one of her hands leaving him in trust he would hold her to reach her breast, kneading at her flesh, pinching at her nipple. He would have come undone in his pants like a green boy if it wasn’t for his hunger for her to obey his order. She would choose the name for him as he fucked her with his tongue and hand, slipping his middle finger inside her soaking entrance, curving it after two pumps of it in her warmth.

‘Aegon!’ Sansa’s keen was perfect and he wished he could reach for his pants, his cock straining within for some friction and comfort. He only buried his face back in her slit, sucking at her clit as he entered another finger in her cunt, moving in and out in a pace she clearly enjoyed as she backed her body against him, her juices coating his beard and palm. ‘Again,’ his gruff command is muffled by her flesh but the vibration of it sends Sansa closer to the edge, he can tell by the way she trembles over him, around him, against him as he keeps licking and sucking at her vigorously, his fingers noisily thrusting in and out.

‘Aegon….’ She begged in a broken moan, she held onto him for dear life for what was about to happen, giving him the chance to reach with his hand his own pants as he fucked her with the other. Pushing her over the edge the moment he felt his own desperate and messy release was the closest he had felt into being alive, rituals and power plays be damned.

Her perfect body was arching, giving him a little more access for him to suck through her release, take everything for himself as she orgasmed against his mouth. Head thrown back, goosebumps across her pale skin, his name a throaty moan that would keep him awake for days to come in his memory. Toes curled and fingers grasping at him, Sansa was the picture of beauty as he watched her from his spot while his own body shivered and trembled with his release in his breeches.

He didn’t care for the small carnal satisfaction on his end, the sight he had witnessed had made up for it. She was unsteady on her own feet as she let her leg slip from his shoulder, swaying on her spot. He held at her still warm and throbbing body as he wiped at his beard with his hand, her juices musky and stimulating though he needed a moment to recover himself. Jon gathered Sansa in his arms, she straddled his lap as he wrapped his arms around her body, a coat of sweat covering her skin, he pulled at her covers from the cot, wrapping them around her relaxed body. Her head resting on his shoulder as he kissed her forehead tenderly. Her eyes were on him as the tent was fallen in silence again, the heated encounter leaving them spent and hot and needy.

‘Thank you…’ Sansa whispered after the small stretch of silence. Jon smiled at her, capturing her lips with his, sharing her taste, their desire. She moaned into his mouth before she could break the kiss and look at him. ‘I’ve never, it was amazing…’ she concluded with a small smile but the pride blooming in his chest made him smile widely. ‘But…’ Sansa stopped herself and Jon felt his stomach dropping. Everything before the word but is horseshit. Had she regretted it, had it been too fast or too much?

‘But?’ he urged in a solemn voice. Sansa prepared her next words, reaching for his still damp bearded chin, kissing him softly yet demanding. ‘I want more,’ she whispered after she ended the kiss, smiling at his stunned expression.

‘You’re sure? We don’t have to rush into anything…’ Jon offered with all his strength, she smirked, probably seeing his struggle.

‘I’m sure, Jon…’ she reassured him, simply, honestly, as if talking over a craving of her favorite lemon cakes. ‘I want your cock inside me, Aegon…’ her hot whisper wasn’t met with another word for him, only a hot kiss as he groaned against her lips, pushing her back on the cot this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOOOOOOKKKKKK yes!!!!! Aegon, Jon! Jaegon during an orgasm maybe....  
> Kinvara dear, go away!  
> I needed them to clean some air between them at the start, argue and fight and take a moment to step back and ground  
> We finally learnt about Arya and to be honest I'm so sad I made her go through all that but I couldn't believe Bran got an assfuck scar by the NK touching him through a vision (and we babbled about it so much) yet Arya was unaffected when he grabbed her by the bloody neck in real life for many seconds... Many of you had commented in past chapters about Gendrya and on why Sansa had Rickard... well now you know and I hope you're not angry, just sad like I am <3  
> theeeeen we had these two idios falling more for each other, opening up at last.... Jon is being brought back into Sansa's world of family and politics and Sansa is being taken to a world where Targaryen blood is really something....  
> and then le smuuuut which will be continued in the next chapter for its... climax.... from Sansa's POV because what is better than our girl getting some fun fun fun with Jon here....?  
> thank you so much for reading, comments are love and inspiration and I just love them so please indulge me? <3


	15. Sansa VIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this week sucked and this chapter was the only highlight, so please enjoy it and forgive any mistakes it's 02:10am  
> thank you for following this every step of the way!

Chapter Fifteen - Sansa VIII

_“She’s not the girl you grew up with, not after what she’s seen, not after what they’ve done to her.”_

Sansa exhaled shakily as Jon kissed her collarbone, nudging his way to the soft skin of her neck, sucking at the spot concealing her pulse, she hissed at the sensation. She couldn’t help but let her eyes drift close as the shivers ran down her spine.

All that she ever wanted for herself. A man who loved her, no matter how familiar or alien he felt now, Jon was Jon, they had changed beyond recognition but somehow, they were still there for each other.

Sansa moaned throatily as Jon moved with open mouthed kisses to her breast, where he had already found an overly sensitive spot of hers. She had to find his own weaknesses, she needed to explore every inch of his. Her hands travelled from his shoulders to his front, trying to tug at the jerkin, signaling her want. Jon paused and smiled, nodding to himself as they awkwardly sat up on the cot for him to undress while she remained completely naked utop the furs.

Jon’s jerkin was soon falling on the floor, leaving him in his tunic and breeches, she tugged at the woolen fabric, her warm hands moving on his overheated skin underneath, he whispered her name in pleasure, a song to her ears. She loved the sound as she leaned in and tasted his own neck, kneading at his lower back, causing him to smile and take her hand, kissing tenderly at the palm before he could bite teasingly on her thumb, she gasped as more heat pooled low in her belly.

_Desire_

Its taste was intoxicating, like Jon’s lips. She had felt no such thing with the husbands she had and she had masked other feelings such as need and arousal with Cley but now with Jon, she acknowledged every goosebump on her skin and every shiver inside her as such.

Sansa’s hands traveled as if in instinct on Jon’s scars once his tunic met his jerkin by the cot. Jon exhaled slowly as she traced the hollow lines carved on his chest. The ritual hadn’t ridden him of them, he had suffered them before their time together, while she had been suffering her own hardships, earning her own scars. She wouldn’t linger or fuzz, she would follow his lead, explore and embrace them. Sansa reached, kissing his chest, pushing him on the cot this time as she took her time to trace her lips and tongue along the healed lines that marked his toned torso. Jon lay back willingly, but not before he could raise his hips for his breeches and smallclothes to go down his legs as well. Sansa had seen a man undress before, yet she couldn’t help but inhale deeply as she saw Jon naked for the first time. All hard lines and scarred skin, taught legs and his cock, hard and thick despite the evidence of spilling in his own clothes already. A strange swell of pride grew inside her, _power_ over him, power that had nothing to do with political games or kingdoms, power over his very body, Jon, her bastard brother, her cousin, Jon the King, the dragonrider, the man she loved. He could make her peak with his lips, she could make him peak just because she did.

_Passion_

They knew what they felt for each other, had screamed, yelled and whispered it, confessed it in all kinds of actions in the past weeks and kept it a secret for years.

Now they were to finally reap what they had sowed so long ago.

'Sansa…’ Jon gasped her name and she had to admit she loved the way he felt beneath her as she straddled his lap. His cock pressing between her legs, the feel of him against her warm folds while she trapped his erection against his stomach and her own womanhood made both moan and grind against each other harder, seeking the much needed friction.

Their lips met in a heated kiss as Jon’s hands roamed over her back as the two sat on the cot once again, tangled in a heated embrace, breathing hard against each other. Sansa’s hair framed them like a curtain as she claimed Jon’s lips with her own, breaking the kiss only when his hand skillfully slipped between their bodies for his fingers to find her clit.

‘I want to see you come again with my name on your lips,’ Jon whispered huskily close to her ear before he could nip at her lobe. Sansa felt the throbbing between her legs becoming unbearable, her hips jerking against him as she ached into Jon’s strong arms.

There would be more elaborate nights, that in itself made the warmth pool inside Sansa. She sucked in a breath as Jon circled her clit, her cunt clutching at nothing as she moved her hips, rubbing against him, causing Jon to gasp her name again.

‘So very wet, and I’m sure as tight,’ Jon’s words were raspy in their guess, causing Sansa to nod and and smile wickedly at him.

She loved his voice, his hands, his body. She could see the worry in his eyes, the need to make her feel good. No other man or woman would stand between them, she didn’t care what he did with his wildling or with the Dragon Queen, she didn’t care what she had been through with that manling, nor what she did with Cley. There would be no pain, that had stopped years ago, she stopped it. Now it was all about her and Jon and what they had among each other for so long. She only cared that they were there, breathing in and out against each other, bodies at last joining in pleasure.

_Lust_

The sheer need to have him inside her caused Sansa to raise her hips, her hand reaching with some difficulty due to their tight embrace and his own hand between them, she wrapped her hand around his pulsing cock. She couldn’t help but smile at Jon’s choked sound as she pumped once, twice before aligning him at her entrance. Capturing his lips in a kiss as she lowered herself on him, taking him inside her to the hilt.

‘Aegon,’ she loved calling his true name, a name she had spoken in whispers at first, a name she had struggled to keep in the mind of people over who saved them from the Night and later on, from the Dragon. A name she now had the liberty to moan against his gasping lips as she took a moment to adjust to him sheathed so deep inside her. He was letting her take control and she loved him for that, for staying on top and getting to know him tentatively.

Sansa moved her hips, slow movements at first, up and down on Jon’s cock. She took in all the reactions of his, how his hand held onto her hips while he caressed her clit in lazy circles with the other, causing her to gasp and shiver against him. He caressed the small of her back in a similar pattern, causing her to moan at the feel of him not only inside but also on her. His hand moved, fingertips tracing her scars before they could hold at her thigh, helping her with her movements against him, her aching legs thanked him for that as she held onto his shoulders for leverage, her cunt clutching around him as he leaned in and captured her nipple with his lips once again, causing her to shout her pleasure this time as he sucked hard.

‘A shouter,’ he whispered hoarsly as he grazed her sensitive spot with his beard, causing her to lose focus on her movements for a moment, an almost wolfish smirk graced his beautiful face. She reached down too, biting at his lower lip before she could suck at it in her mouth, leaving it sore and tender before she could pull almost completely from him only to clump back down, taking his cock in from head to the base, causing him to moan her name in shocked surprise.

‘A moaner,’ Sansa pointed out breathlessly, ‘I like that,’ she added and the smirk she gave him matched his own as he pressed his lips with hers, shifting both slightly so he could lay back on her cot, bringing her on top for him to be able to move his hips against her, thrusting up in shallow thrusts, causing her to gasp and cry out his name incoherently. Her body was reacting to his own, as if they were made for each other, she was nearing her peak, the coil in her belly tightening as they moved with each other in harmony.

‘Aegon… Jon...Aegon!’ she was spiraling to her peak, and she was sure Jon was too, their bodies ready to implode in the heat created between them. He kept a steady pattern on her clit, his other hand moving to her hair, tugging it away before he could pull her down for a long kiss as his thrusts turned frantic and unsteady. She followed, for a moment closing her eyes at the ramification this night could lead to. She hadn’t taken moontea in years.

‘Sansa…yes… Sansa, come for me.’ Jon growled beneath her as she reached her peak first, unable to form even a word as he muffled her shouts with his lips while her body trembled and tingled with pleasure that rolled through her from head to toe, her orgasm washing over her as she ached into him while Jon held at her as she rode out her pleasure. She distantly aware in her bliss of his hands darting at her still moving hips, lifting her body until he slipped out of her, one of his hands grasping at his throbbing cock and pumping at it two more times before he could spill with a gasp of her name against her stomach.

The shock wavered from her quickly, understanding, appreciating, and for the smallest fraction of her -that irrational stupid fraction of hers that still existed deep inside- feeling disappointed for his seed going on instead of inside her belly. She took a deep shaky breath and collapsed on her lover as Jon’s arm wrapped around her, his lips kissing the top of her head as they bathed in the comfortable, warm silence of their union’s aftermath.

‘I would never give you a bastard,’ Jon’s words were there to keep reality between them, they had decided to be honest with each, to trust each other. He was trying to make up for not telling her over Balerion and the prisoners and Harrenhal. She couldn’t blame him for pulling out in time, the rational, regal part of her, the one with the duty to honorably rule the North thanked him for it despite the one wanting a family with him, staying silent in the corner.

After what he had been through himself, after what he learnt of Arya and after Jon saw how she and Gendry had fought over Rickard, of course he wouldn’t burden her with a bastard son or daughter. She would follow his lead to that, legitimising bastards had its boundaries even for a Queen, unmarried and single for so long at that. Even if he was coming for the North that belonged to her by then, he was protecting her from compromise before it. What would the Northern Lords think, say or do if their Queen returned from the South with a swollen belly and another bastard being born in Winterfell? Sansa had fought with most of them over Rickard, she had enough. ‘If I were to be a father one day,’ his voice was soft, achingly so, Sansa sighed, her hair spilt over his chest and side. ‘It will be to a trueborn child born from you.’ his soft words had her eyes stinging suddenly, her throat tingled and closed as she struggled to take a breath at the honesty of his words, at the prospect, at the hope.

‘Don’t,’ the word slipped from her lips before she could stop them, she raised from his chest, his hands following her as he caressed her forearms while her own hands rested on his scarred chest, sat on his lap, the evidence of their union straining their bodies. ‘Don’t give me hope…’ she added, unable to stop or admit it was anything else but that.

‘I will find a way, I always keep my promises to you,’ Jon tried gently but Sansa nodded, her hand reaching his soft lips, still swollen from her fevered kisses.

‘Until then, don’t… please,’ he must have seen the desperation in her eyes because Jon simply nodded, kissing her knuckles before he could kiss her palm and pull her back to him for another kiss.

Sansa went willingly, knowing they needed so much more for the pieces the world had turned into, to be put together again. As she looked into his eyes, she knew she couldn’t deny what she felt, to herself or him; any longer. The past was what it was and the future was yet to be determined, all she could control was the present, that very moment.

‘I love you,’ this time the words were out of her lips because she wanted them to. She saw the emotions in his eyes, the happiness, the joy, had he ever been told those words before?

‘I love you, Sansa, more than anything,’ he replied before he could take her in the new kiss exhaling in pleasure as they tasted each other. Had anyone told her they loved her, like Jon did at that moment? She couldn’t remember, it didn’t matter, all that mattered was that they were finally in each other’s arms, as bare and open as they could ever be.

‘We’ll find a way,’ he murmured against her lips reassuringly when the kiss was broken and Sansa hoped Jon would be right.

Riverrun was buzzing with life as the royal procession reached the small bridge connecting the castle with the land. People had camped around, waving their hands and tokens as the King of Westeros and the Queen in the North headed for the castle on their horses, Ghost trotting between them. Sansa didn’t fail to notice the changed atmosphere, warmer for her, as warm for Jon, to her relief. Some people were holding the sigil of Jon’s new reign, the fire of the Lord of Light and the dragon head. Balerion had been kept in distance. She sighed, wondering for a moment what her mother would have thought for the shift she detected in the people and their new fate.

She couldn’t blame them, a man had been brought back to life, that man had stopped the Dragon Queen from destroying the continent, the same man had been King in the North, had dedicated his life to stopping the Night King. One side of his family had been there to aid him save the world from Ice, he had saved the world from Fire coming from the other family of his. Jon had been a man of legend for his swordsmanship before he could gain the name of the man returning from the dead, the King in the North or the Heir to the Seven Kingdoms.

He had also gotten fame for kneeling, for giving up his crown, for leaving, but those names lingered in the North, as they entered the lands that belonged to her family, the balance shifted but didn’t collapse.

Edmure and Roslin Tully along Lord Royce and Robin Arryn waited for the procession to reach the courtyard inside the walls. She knew her family well, Edmure was confident but obedient, having learnt much in the past years, Roslin and their son by his side. Lord Royce was watching both her and Jon. She would have sworn he looked at her with equal respect and suspicion, she couldn’t blame him. Jon’s kisses still lingered on her body, causing her skin to tingle. Robin was smiling, sweetly naive and unskilled to recognise the significance of the moment. The Knights of the Vale were also there, banging their shields in welcome, Sansa wasn’t sure if it was for her or for Jon, but they were both surprised. It was no secret for the North or the Vale the Knights of the second saw a much more skilled leader in Sansa rather than in Robin but she had handed back the army to her cousin as duty and honor demanded, he was family, no matter what, they belonged to him. At least now, their king was at least half a Stark like Sansa, and a great fighter to look up to and respect, a man they had fought with during the Battle of the Bastards.

Jon dismounted first, reaching for Sansa’s mare, patting the thick neck of the beast to calm it in the noise before he could hold at the saddle and the foot base for Sansa to reach and dismount in her heavy dress and cloak. The weather was changing, more humid and crisp with every day they rode North. Day by day, she was nearing home and for the ascend at least, Jon was with her.

Jon held her hand, wishing to meet with the local Lords together. They were equals and Jon wanted to make sure Sansa was seen as one even if the Six Kingdoms belonged to him now. Sansa wanted the same, the Vale and the Riverlands were his, no matter how closely related they were to her, they were loyal people and she wished the area close to her kingdom to be prosperous and in the King’s favor.

Jon and Sansa reached the waiting Lords who bowed, Roslin urging her young boy to do the same as he looked at Jon in awe and Sansa with a toothy smile.

‘Your Graces, welcome,’ Edmure offered first with a smile. ‘May I present to you, my wife, Roslin Tully, our son Holster,’ his words were followed by the obedient curtsy of Roslin and the boy’s smile. Sansa sighed, the Red Wedding had been avenged, Arya had spared all women from the Frey line, causing the house to collapse by killing all the men. The Freys had not only been eliminated but also deeply disgraced for their crimes during Edmure's wedding. Roslin had renounced her name, adopting Edmure’s exclusively, wishing for her son to be remembered as the child of Edmure Tully and not the grandson of Walder Frey.

Jon nodded his head before he and Sansa could move towards Lord Royce and Robin, no introductions were needed as Jon accepted their handshakes and Sansa received sweet Robin in her arms. Her younger cousin was always expressive -sometimes obnoxiously so- but Sansa hadn’t expected such display of affection from Robin and she would swear it wasn’t his idea.

‘Dearest cousin,’ the man smiled at her as the Knights finally subsided their greeting, acknowledging the only children left to Catelyn and Lysa Tully. Sansa didn’t miss Lord Royce’s satisfied smile, nor Jon’s slightest of frowns at the embrace. The scar over his left eye always creased when he frowned.

‘You will be escorted to the castle’s finest chambers so you can rest until tonight’s feast.’ Lord Edmure offered to break the awkward silence as Sansa moved from the embrace and Robin smiled broadly at her. Jon’s frown did not cease as he took her hand in his and they moved inside the castle of Riverrun.

Sansa had just finished braiding her hair on the side, a Tully blue dress already wrapped around her slender form to match her eyes; when there was a knock on the door. Jon always knocked thrice, Sansa answered the door as Ghost opened lazily one eye to see who was coming, he went back to sleep after sniffing the air.

‘Come in,’ she called out and turned to see Lord Royce entering the chambers, a tight smile on his lips until the door was closed behind him. Sansa smiled at one of her most loyal councilors during her time as Lady of Winterfell, even as Queen she frequently sought the noble man’s council through letters and he always made sure to keep in touch with her out of honest interest and care for her wellbeing.

‘Your Grace,’ the man’s voice always held pride at the proclamation. Sansa smiled and gestured for him to sit at the solar’s armchairs before the lit fireplace. They still had time until the feast. Lord Royce did so after bowing dutifully and only after she sat down first. Sansa smiled at him, waiting for whatever was coming although she was certain where the conversation would lead to, she had expected it since she left King’s Landing with Jon.

‘There’s been a change in the people.’ Lord Royce started from the point Sansa expected for last. She nodded nonetheless, waiting for him to elaborate. She had been wondering how successful Kinvara had been exactly. ‘They’re abandoning the Seven, believing into this Lord of Light who brings people back from the dead.’ the man spoke the words with obvious annoyance, a devotee of the faith of the Seven himself. ‘The wars took many of the priesthood -apart from the Sept of Baelor in the capital- and more and more people emerge as priests and priestesses of the Lord of Light, like the priestess the King has with him… all in Red and seeing “the truth in the flames”...’ Lord Royce finished his words with a roll of her eyes, looking at Sansa, searching for support. She smiled and nodded her head.

‘Everything changes, my Lord, the crown and the faith must coordinate and the new King believes in the Lord of Light, if prosperity comes with Him, I think people will only find this change natural.’ Sansa tried to be political about it, indifferent, her own people held the old Gods. For a moment, Sansa wondered what her good old Septa would have said if she heard her.

‘The Seven are our sacred Gods and my dearest Queen you should be the protector of the faith even if in the North, people believe in the old Gods as well as the Seven and your mother held the Seven in-’ Sansa interrupted the Lord’s exasperated words by holding her hand.

‘The Seven allowed the Red Wedding to happen under sacred hospitality. Instead of my brother’s child to be born back then, Edmure and Roslin have a son now…conceived that night while my family was butchered at the Twins and I wish all good fortune to the little boy but nor the Seven nor any other God did any short of miracle for my mother or father for that matter to be spared their fates… Old, new, many or One God…No one helped in the slightest.’ Sansa took a deep breath at the outburst over faith.

‘As you very well know, I’m done with all that.’ Sansa explained, finding the notion of people still praying to Gods pointless, not after what all Gods -with no exception- let happen to her family, to herself, to the people of King’s Landing. ‘But I can’t blame them for believing in a new God, for needing one. The Seven had been silent, under them, the last generation had suffered greatly… People search for something to believe in. A God who can actually bring people back from the dead… a man as his chosen one, on a dragon who is here to defend instead of destroy… He’s to distribute riches more fairly, make poor people suffer less… Sounds like God-sent after Joffrey and Cersei Lannister, after Daenerys Targaryen…’ Sansa’s words had Lord Royce nod in comprehension, a frown of admission upon his face before he could glance back at Sansa.

‘A Targaryen cannot be trusted…’ he echoed the words he once had called out before Jon and Sansa and the rest of the North in Winterfell. Sansa caught the hint, he was searching for some undermining plan of hers, she had none.

She wouldn’t adopt Jon’s narrative with Daenerys, she wouldn’t start parroting he would be a good King over and over again to everyone. No, this time a Stark and a Targaryen were side by side and she wouldn’t be the Northern Fool he had played once to save them all. She would make space for him to rule his kingdoms as he saw fit, for the people to accept him for what he was, even if the notion of his dragon eating people alive -awful people she would have publicly executed but people nonetheless- turned her stomach.

‘I believe his coin landed on the good side, otherwise you and my uncle Edmure and the rest of the Lords of Westeros wouldn’t have bent the knee, would you have?’ Sansa turned the challenge with one of her own. If all these Southerners had knelt to save their heads and expected her to overthrow Jon and drown the continent in fire and blood, they were mistaken. The North deserved better, so did the South. Even if things were different and she had hated Jon to her core she would never play his own game of placating a dragon until it snapped and brought the sky down upon everyone’s heads.

‘Indeed my Queen…’ the man cleared his throat. ‘However he-’

‘Lord Royce,’ Sansa cut in, stopping him before he spoke of treason she would have to burden herself with, within her uncle’s walls. ‘The North is secure under my rule,’ Sansa started and the man bowed at the truth of her words. ‘I believe I do my best for it, and I know Tyrion Lannister had a plan for the last Great Council, a plan which I hope if you were aware of, you would have warned me about,’ Sansa saw no shock in the older man’s eyes. She fought down the hurt, disappointment and anger, of course he knew. Tyrion had been cunning, of course he would have informed everyone into choosing Sansa for Queen of Westeros.

‘I would have denied, my place is in the North, as Queen, Lady or a simple woman of it. I belong in the North. Framing me into becoming the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms would have been a failure for all of you.’ Sansa declared, unable to hold back her anger. ‘You’re lucky the humiliating Council had been interrupted by the rightful Heir of the Kingdoms… The same man who saved us all from the night by all means necessary so we can have this very conversation now, you and I.’ Sansa added, causing the older man she once respected as a father figure to bow his head in shame.

‘People tend to forget easily. They forgot about what my family has suffered in King’s Landing, how many men of my family died down there to have me as a Queen in that Golden Cage. You all seem to forget how much Jon went through to stop the Night, what happened to Arya for stopping the Night King, what happened to Bran ever since Theon attacked Winterfell until he died for Bran in the Godswood… You forget, but I don’t, because when I go back to Winterfell, I only have my nephew there… He and I are the remains of the Starks. You might not like or trust your new Targaryen King but at least he, under different names and titles, saved us all time and time again. So the least we can do is give him a chance and see how it will go.’ Sansa hadn’t expected so much emotion to unfold from her but it did. Ever since Bran died in her arms, her whole world had shifted again and she struggled to piece together the past with the present if she wished to have a future with Jon in it too.

‘If he’s given the chance, will you give him your crown? If the North wishes to be ruled by that same man instead of a woman unmarried and childless?’ Lord Royce’s voice was soft, asking the truth he was sure Sansa had burdened herself with from the moment Jon landed before them all at the dragonpit.

‘Yes, I will,’ Sansa replied honestly, chin held high. ‘I doubt my people will want _anyone_ else but me but I have already considered the possibility.’ Sansa wasn’t a fool to tell Lord Royce she had already promised she’d abdicate if her people wished her to, that would spread like fire until she was to be reaching Moat Cailin. ‘And I’m willing to give up my claim if he respects Rickard -which I know he will- as Heir Apparent of the North.’ Sansa concluded with a sigh, Lord Royce was silent for more moments… she had probably blocked some kind of plan he had but she trusted him he would find a way to it.

‘However, your claim to the North _and_ the rest of Westeros could be stronger through a union… it would strengthen your position in the North and across the Neck… if you were to marry Robin under Edmure’s blessing, fortifying the three areas forever…’ The man was straightforward with his plan, Sansa fought the urge to roll her eyes at the arranged marriages people tend to include her in, she was done being sold around or pushed and pulled according other people’s plans.

‘Robin became an attractive man…’ Sansa started slowly in praise. ‘But he’s unstable and slow as ever…’ she added realistically, causing Lord Royce to frown at the truth. ‘He could see Rickard as a threat, he would have to be my Consort in the North and although related to me through my mother, the Northmen wouldn’t be all too happy with me getting married to him, his fame precedes him. After all, I would be fortifying my Tully line instead of marrying a Northman..’ Sansa’s points were simple but strong.

‘The Vale will need heirs but I already have Rickard...and i’m not gonna breastfeed my children until they’re thirteen, my Lord, as I’m sure my husband would command me to since his mother did for him…’ This time Lord Royce coughed violently at the disturbing words of the Queen that spoke only of the truth. He sighed and Sansa knew another plan had just collapsed for him, silence stretched between them as the two stared at the fire for a few moments. Sansa couldn’t help but shiver at the memory of her aunt holding her to the Moondoor, ready to push her through it.

The knock on the door had them looking at the entrance of the chambers, three quick knocks.

‘Come in,’ Sansa’s tone this time was gentler as Jon entered the solar, smiling calmly at both Sansa and Lord Royce who stood up abruptly and bowed for him before he could bow at Sansa as well who had remained on her chair.

‘Excuse me, Your Graces.’ the older man said with utmost respect as Jon made way for him to exit the chambers and close the door behind him, leaving the two alone. Sansa gestured for Jon to reach closer and he did so, dressed in a black doublet and breeches, his dark crown already upon his head. He sat on the chair Lord Royce had occupied until recently and looked at Sansa, he was calm, confident, almost amused.

‘He doesn’t trust me, does he?’ Jon asked but his voice held no ire. Sansa sighed and rubbed her temple before she could trace her fingers down her braid.

‘He’s loyal to you, but he’s worried of another Targaryen with a Dragon over his head…’ Sansa was honest, maybe brutally so but Jon was reaching North. He had to be prepared, she could control only herself, sometimes not even that, she wouldn’t constrict her people from their opinion or instinctive responses, even if these led her off the ancient throne of the Starks.

‘Can’t blame him, I would have been worried myself…’ Jon admitted and Sansa nodded, glancing at him for a moment. ‘I don’t want you to be worried.’ Jon added and Sansa waited. ‘I won’t let you out of anything I want to do from now on. I should have told you about my plans for this trip from the beginning.’ Jon’s voice was calm but Sansa could see he was about to make another political movement and he was there to discuss it with her before the feast, that left her equally satisfied and uneasy.

‘I will ascend the Riverlands’ status to a kingdom again.’ Jon announced, Sansa gasped at his words. ‘Your uncle will remain as Lord of it, the Riverlands deserve that after all they have been through every time War broke out. There will be Seven Kingdoms again…’ Sansa was already rising from her seat, reaching his lap and wrapping her arms around him. He exhaled at her response, probably holding his breath in anticipation. ‘They will be loyal, if not grateful to me, you will be there too, your presence is of significance… they will have equal rights to the continent’s riches, imports and exports. As a kingdom they will have a stronger say with the Westerlands and the Ironborns’ trading deals and your mother’s family can finally ascend where they-’ the rest of his words were interrupted by Sansa’s lips, initiating a kiss that had both sigh and moan against each other as they remained before the fireplace.

‘So it’s a good idea?’ Jon asked for confirmation and Sansa chuckled and nodded.

‘Even better that you told me before you did it.’ Sansa admitted. He would be King of the Seven Kingdoms again… the North was a different matter, with it or not, he would have Seven Kingdoms that wanted him for King, by force or privilege, balance would be achieved. Sansa was certain Edmure would be forever loyal to Jon for the honor his family was to receive. She was glad she recognized the feeling contentment instead of discord at the idea of her family loyal to their own King.

The two enjoyed each other’s kisses for a little longer before Sansa could stand up first, taking Jon by the hand. She stopped before the crown set on the table of her solar but Jon reached for it before her, setting it carefully upon her head gingerly.

‘I love putting your crown on your beautiful head.’ Jon’s voice was hoarse smoke between them, she noticed his eyes darkening, his pupils dilating. Sansa stepped into him, her lips a thread from his as the dragon upon his own crown was an inch away from her wolves.

‘Next time I’m on top of you, I can keep it on,’ her own voice was low, husky, the knot inside her recognised as ablaze desire. Jon couldn’t help but groan and capture her lips in a kiss once again.

‘We must stop otherwise the Riverlands will remain what they are now, whatever that is.’ Jon’s words were desperate. Sansa suddenly felt eager for the night to be over, for them to go on the road again, where tents concealed their actions and walls or prying eyes didn’t stop them.

They entered the Great Hall of Riverrun together, met by everyone with respect as they reached for Edmure Tully and his wife who smiled at them.

‘It is an honor to have our King here, along the Queen in the North. The Riverlands welcome you both.’ Edmure started, his men and the Lords and Ladies of the court cheered in agreement. ‘The Riverlands have seen a lot of blood spilt. We can only hope for better days under Targaryen rule now that the Lannisters are gone and the King pledged himself to make the Kingdoms prosper while at Harrenhal!’ Edmure added and Jon nodded and took the cup set before him to raise it before him, towards Edmure. The court watched expectantly at what the new King would announce, Lord Royce and Robin were also there watching.

‘Lord Tully, it is my honor to share your food and ale, to stay under your hospitality and protection.’ Jon started. ‘Indeed, through the rivers of your prosperous lands, a lot of blood has run due to war, betrayal and conflict.’ Jon acknowledged, choosing for Roslin Tully and Sansa herself not to mention the Red Wedding specifically. No one had forgotten after all, but this was supposed to be a day of celebration. ‘And House Tully only stood proud and loyal to its words of Family, Duty and Honor.’ Jon added, many raised their cups at his words, Sansa wondered what her late Lady Mother would have said if she was to know the bastard she despised so much was the King to ascend her family’s lands into a Kingdom after centuries. No, tonight was about happiness, for better or for worse, they had to look only forward. As she did, Sansa’s eyes fell on Kinvara’s presence in across the Hall, the priestess was watching in silence as the rest drank and cheered. Sansa sighed in worry but forced herself to shift her attention back to Jon by her side.

‘This is a brave new world of mercy and since so much can be achieved if we let ill will behind… I have made a decision, supported by the Queen in the North.’ Jon declared and everyone quieted down in anticipation. ‘The Riverlands are to be restored in their status as kingdom, under my rule through House Tully that is loyal to the Crown.’ Jon’s announcement plunged everyone into silence only for a moment, the eruption of shouts and cheers, hailing Jon for his decision shook the Great Hall. ‘From now on, your kingdom’s borders will be respected, you will be respected as the Seventh Kingdom under my rule and you will be the kingdom you were always had been.’ Jon added through the noise, finally drinking and clapping Edmure’s shoulder who had remained shocked and silent to look at the younger King before him. He finally nodded and reached for Jon, embracing him like a father would do. Over Jon’s shoulder, Edmure smiled at Sansa who nodded and pointed her cup at him. Through him and little Holster, her mother’s name would go on, the royal House of her mother’s ancestral lands. Sansa wished if her mother could somehow watch over that night, to be happy for what Jon had done for the Tullies.

The rest of the night passed by very much like that night in Harrenhal, a few days prior. Only now Sansa was fully happy, Jon had told her about his plans, included her in them, asked her about them. There was no secret between them, uncomfortable truths maybe but no secrets.

They had tasted each other on their way to Riverrun, coming together at last, now they were dancing in old Riversongs about love and happiness and river nymphs who married fishermen. They were laughing and clapping as the happy songs had them breathlessly reaching and retracting from each other, whirling around and clasping hands again. And the people around them were as happy. Even if Lord Royce sulked in a corner, even if Robin would have to marry some noble lady from the Westerlands maybe or the Reach, instead of the Queen in the North as old men wished for Sansa below the Neck, just like other old men wished for Sansa above it. She could leave all that behind for that night, because the man _she_ wanted to take was holding her in his arms, spinning her around until the songs were over and she swayed blissfully dizzy in his arms.

‘Time for bed, Queen of Dreams,’ Jon whispered in her ear before he could release her from his gentle hold. She laughed at the endearment. She liked the title, Red Wolf, Ice Queen, Lady of Harrenhal, Queen of the King’s Dreams.

Nobody seemed to notice the two leaving the feast as everyone was too drunk and happy by then. Jon and Sansa reached her chambers like they had done in Harrenhal. Only this time, Sansa opened the door of the rooms and turned to Jon, reaching for his hand, tugging him inside.

‘The castle is full of people.’ Jon warned and Sansa nodded as they glanced up and down the dark corridor, seeing no one.

‘I am sure Ghost will be waking us before Dawn, you’ll go back to your rooms…Everyone will be asleep by then.’ Sansa whispered suggestively, causing Jon to grin and finally give in.

They were carefree for the first time, two young people in love, powerful, able to make their own decisions, how impossible that had felt a few years ago, when others chose for them, exploited them, hurt them. The hardship was behind them, so was the pain. Now they had each other.

Jon stepped closer, his hands reaching for Sansa’s face, cupping her cheeks, his thumbs rubbing soothing patterns over her lips and jaw.

‘I want you,’ Jon confessed. ‘Ever since I had you in the tent, I can’t think of anything else but you, your beautiful body, your moans... your tight cunt…’ Jon’s words had Sansa gasp, thrills running down her spine at the lustful words, the truth in them violently shaping her own need for him, making her gasp and wrap her arms around him, pulling him impossibly closer to her, her hands reaching for his breeches.

With his foot, Jon kicked the door closed before he could hoist Sansa in his arms, her legs wrapping around his waist as he led her to the bed, deeper in the chambers.

Neither of them noticed the Red Priestess hiding in an alcove of the corridor, watching them and whispering her prayer to the Lord of Light as she stood unseen in the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinvaraaaaaaaa....... uuuugh!  
> sexy times at the start of the chapter were sexy and more elaborate times will come, but I think every first time is a little fumbling around and messy so that's why it wasn't that super sex smut we had in other stories of mine with these two <3 I din't want Sansa all freaked out because Cley had been her lover in the past and I believe that promising Ramsay (I made sure not to mention his name as it was Sansa's pov) he will disappear completely included her ways with her own body too, so she had time to deal with that shit and now my girl is not identified by her hardships!  
> we reached Riverrun and look who's getting to play with his favorite girl in the world instead of blurting out ideas and new things.... look who's putting old people in their place and calls them out on loyalty and politics.... and no, my girl won't gonna marry crazy Robin, just no ( I like Lord Royce but no)  
> and because I've been too good and fluffy with all this for the past two chapters and I see you all sweetening up and enjoying your time, consider this chapter the calm before the storm....  
> love you all!!! comments are inspiration and very much needed for me to continue  
> stay safe and #blacklivesmatter


	16. Jon VIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're already scrolling down so all I have to say is... enjoy!

_Chapter Sixteen - Jon VIII_

__

_"The Red Wedding, they're calling it. Walder Frey committed sacrilege that day. He shared bread and salt with the Starks. He offered them guest right... The gods will have their vengeance. Frey will burn in the seventh hell for what he did."_

Jon had heard of the tale, times and times again through the years, every echo of it more brutal and graphic than the previous. How Robb had crawled close to his wife while stab wounds upon her swollen belly bled out. How Lady Stark’s throat had been cut to the bone. He sighed as the Twin Shadows emerged in the horizon while he rode next to Sansa’s wheelhouse, Ghost on the other side of the wagon.

Jon didn’t blame her for not riding alongside him, the rain was getting heavier with every mile they crossed through the riverlands, the humidity from the rivers penetrating and chilling. Yet he knew it wasn’t the weather that kept secluded. She was of the North, she had survived the trip from Winterfell to Castle Black, Sansa was a strong woman. What yielded her however was the final destination before they crossed to the North. The safest passage between the kingdoms had been proven the most dangerous when House Frey ruled over the crossing.

The towers were headless for years but not abandoned as the precious crossing had been used freely ever since the destruction of House Frey by Arya. Merchants and travelers moved through the crossing freely for the first time in six hundred years and thousands were already waiting -mostly rivermen who wished to greet and applaud their new ruler for making the Riverlands a kingdom again- for the King of the Seven Kingdoms and the Queen in the North to reach the point where their realms truly met, and where House Stark had once been almost eliminated.

There was no Lord to meet them at their arrival, only Rivermen who had reached the Towers first to get them ready for the royal procession, under Edmure Tully’s words. Jon had commanded them not to prepare the tower the Red Wedding had taken place in. House Stark had been slaughtered while under the protection of the Seven and the sacred rule of hospitality in that place. A fact Kinvara had clearly taken for her advantage in her campaign for the Lord of Light as the people had lit fires strong enough for the rain not to extinguish as a sign of welcome for the King who had been brought back from the dead by the true God. The Twins were another hearth the Seven failed to save their devotees, another place for the Lord of Light to get rooted in the hearts of the people while the remaining Stark Queen and the King who was resurrected reached that very point.

Jon sighed as he saw the proud priestess moving on her own horse, wet to the bone, smug smile on her face and prayers upon her lips at the sight of the pyres across their way. Jon led the procession himself through the first tower, crossing the bridge. It was then Jon saw Sansa’s face behind the curtain of her wheelhouse, peeking out for the first time since she entered her carriage. Her sky blue eyes were pinned at the river, gaze darkened and pained. Jon sighed to himself, exhausted and sad too, he knew the crypts back in Winterfell were empty for the Young Wolf and Lady Catelyn Stark. Their bodies dumped in the river after the massacre. Sansa’s heartsick expression was visible only for a moment more before she could withdraw back into the wheelhouse.

Balerion was close by, Jon could feel the beast growing uneasy with every passing day, maybe matching Jon’s feelings. He was to be fed that night but Jon wouldn’t make things worse for any of them. The order for the last wheelhouse to keep moving several miles away had been given the night before. Sansa had enough as it was, with every passing day from Riverrun to the Twins, she had grown silent and solemn until the night before when her screams had woken him and he had rushed to her tent to calm her, the nightmares had returned and he had barely managed to calm her with his words and his love before dawn could break. Afterwards he had commanded for the dragon to be fed further away from the procession and for the Queen not to be disturbed for any reason.

As they entered the second Twin Tower, Jon dismounted, reaching the wheelhouse while Sansa was opening its door to step out. She did so with a heavy sigh and nodded at Jon for his help. She was dressed in black and Jon was sure it was a conscious choice of hers to reflect her emotions for the place.

‘The presence of the Lord is apparent on your King’s return!’ Kinvara was saying happily to the gathered people around her who cheered and agreed with her. Jon fought the urge to roll his eyes as Sansa looked daggers at the priestess, before she could look at Jon. ‘In the place the Seven allowed atrocities to happen, the Lord has brought the King of the Seven Kingdoms and the Queen in the North to close a circle of blood and blasphemy to sacred customs as this of hospitality.’ Kivara added as she gestured and bowed at Jon and Sansa, the people mimicking her actions.

‘Tell her to quit the show in the place my mother and brother were slaughtered.’ Sansa demanded in an icy whisper, Jon nodded, frowning at the priestess. He wouldn’t lose Sansa over another woman around him, she was priority first and foremost and it was about time for his ally to know that. He hadn’t expected Kinvara to be so open about the religion that was clearly spreading around the South without her petty shows in such circumstances. The Twins were a place of significance for House Stark and Jon felt Kinvara was staining the memory of the dead by promoting her God. He certainly hadn’t expected her to act without talking to him first. In a way, he understood how Sansa must have felt at Harrenhal.

Jon and Sansa had avenged the Red Wedding with the Battle of the Bastards, she had made sure of their victory by bringing the Knights of the Vale North. Jon had made sure by smashing Bolton’s face and giving her the final kill of the sick bastard. Arya had followed with the final blow, killing all the men of the bloody House. Winter had come for House Frey and the memory of the gargling Frey men in their treacherous blood still circulated across the River’s length.

The countless nieces and daughters of House Frey had been spared by Arya but had scattered around the area, dishonored for their House’s deeds and their Lord’s blasphemy. Roslin Tully was the luckiest of them, married and in love with a husband who actually cared for her as Edmure had indeed fallen for her. Walda Bolton one of the unluckiest, finding an end as awful as the Red Wedding itself along her baby son... Jon had heard all the stories from Sansa once Winterfell was theirs again, tainted but still standing for the remaining Starks.

Instead of having a feast, they would have a quiet meal without guests or hosts, Jon preferred that, even if there was to be a welcoming feast nor he nor Sansa would be in the mood to attend. One day long would be their stay in the tower, the next day they would finally move to the Northern border and Jon couldn’t wait to see his love happy again, although there was a nagging suspicion their stop at the Twins was not the only reason for her mood.

The people around them were welcoming but Jon had eyes only for Sansa who looked back at him with solemn eyes and a curt nod as Ghost who was with her even before she could fully step out of the wheelhouse, followed her.

‘I’m right here,’ Jon attempted to assure her with his words, maybe console her or at least comfort her.

‘I know,’ Sansa reassured back, her voice low but firm. The gathered people scattered for the King and Queen to move in the chambers chosen for them and Jon was only glad people kept their tongues over the Red Wedding, holding onto calling out their names and titles in thanks for the prosperity the place was to know.

Jon had decided to impose a fee for the crossing, nothing compared to what the Freys asked of the travelers. The money would go directly to the treasury but first he needed to find a house loyal enough for the task ahead, a house close to him, loyal and good enough not to gain power by the position of the towers.

Jon had sent a raven to King’s Landing, answering the furious calls of Manfrey Martell over _‘another rushed decision that would favor and strengthen Sansa Stark’_ for ascending the Riverlands to a kingdom. Jon had asked the council about the House that should take the Twins as its seat, the spot on the map so powerful he couldn’t ignore the significance. He didn’t want wars over neighboring houses for the place, he had made clear in his letter that Balerion would take care of any unrest, if it was to happen. Bran had made no move to exploit the crossing but Jon knew under Targaryen rule, these matters had to be resolved, no House could gain too much power again and threaten others.

However, Jon knew there was no house so loyal to him, Sam was to take the Reach, the Tullys belonged to Riverrun, Robin Arryn was powerful enough and annoyingly still looking for a bride that would only strengthen his position at the Eyre. The Twins needed a house that would be of unwavering support to Jon and he couldn’t think of any such House so far.

‘I need you to rest, please Sansa.’ Jon broke the silence between them as both dressed in black, moved through the alien corridors of the Tower, leaving Kinvara behind who frowned at their uneventful exit from the courtyard and not answering her speech over the Lord of Light.

The place was massive, fortified to hold any kind of attack from land or river. From the windows of the ascending steps, Jon could see the Twin Tower across the bridge, as large and imposing, no banners or flags decorating it.

‘I will do my best…’ Sansa reassured him and Jon sighed as he reached for the room that was assigned to her, the Northern guards already at the door. Sansa turned and looked at Jon and then at Ghost who whined and sniffed his way around, Jon knew she would be safe. She was paler, defeated, maybe the last time he had seen her like that was when she reached Castle Black, or when she asked him why he bent the knee, and he had held the truth from her, instead of opening up back then. He wouldn’t make the same mistakes now.

‘I will talk with Kinvara, then I will come to you so we can dine together.’ Jon offered and Sansa nodded her head, still unable or unwilling to speak more. ‘Until then, rest, please’ Jon repeated his request as he raised her hand within his; his lips planting a kiss on her knuckles.

Sansa entered her rooms, closing the door behind her. Jon took a deep breath for a moment, hearing the approaching footsteps, recognising the priestess who stood a foot away from him.

‘Your Grace.’ the priestess smirked at him triumphantly, clearly seeing his sorrow and conflict, choosing to ignore it all. As his hand shot out and grasped her arm, Kinvara gasped sharply, not expecting Jon to drag her to his own chambers, shoving her inside the rooms before he could shut the door.

‘You won’t be making a show over every place the fucking Seven failed to prove their existence because I can show you hundreds other places and moments where the Lord of Light didn’t give a fuck on stoping tragedy.’ Jon was seething, Kinvara was shocked, _afraid_ though she recoiled quickly.

‘The Lord of Light saves His devotees and-’ Kinvara was cut off as Jon approached her threateningly.

‘The Lord of Light will have you by his side very soon if you disobey me again, Kinvara.’ Jon clarified, infuriating the woman before him.

‘If this is about your She-Wolf…’ Kinvara suggested but this time Jon wouldn’t have it.

‘Even if it is, you’re to stay away from her and you disobeyed me, you were to be honest with me and you weren’t over Rickard, Arya and Sansa and Cerwyd…’ Jon growled his accusations. Kinvara shook her head in annoyance.

‘You had to focus on your change, the wolves did just fine in your absence…’ she mocked, the implication fueling Jon’s fire.

Kinvara had put him back on his feet, but his steps were his own, she wouldn’t be his crutch, nor the spanner in his works. Her position had been agreed upon while they were in Valyria -predestined by the Will of the God as Kinvara insisted back then- but now Jon could see how the potential power overwhelmed her along her fanatic belief in her God and the role she wanted to play into manifesting His will.

‘The moment we cross the wolves’ North then, you will remain silent and invincible, out of mine or Sansa’s way. Your use is to spread the faith in the South, where everyone needs one faith. Don’t be pointless by trying to persuade the Northmen of a God of Fire when they live in Ice. Am I understood?’ Jon asked impatiently, Kinvara smirked.

‘How easily you change when it comes to her, my Lord,’ Kinvara accused him openly. ‘You used to be so determined, apt, fearless... you fooled wildlings, the Dragon Queen. A lying crow that flew so high it became a fiery dragon….’ Kinvara went on, standing up against Jon over what they had agreed on doing, taking over the world that belonged to Jon, the world the Lord of Light had made in Kinvara’s eyes. ‘Look at you now, how tightly wrapped she has you around her little finger…’ Kinvara’s voice rose and trembled in fury and distaste.

‘You forbid me to speak of our Lord before her? You forbid me to speak of our Lord in the North?’ Kinvara wondered in sheer disbelief. _‘Where_ is the North? Over this man-made border? Who rules over there? Her? Her bastard nephew?’ Kinvara wondered and Jon felt a tremble rushing down his spine as he tried to restrain himself from stepping the line right then and there. Kinvara could be proven dangerous, he had seen her powers with his own eyes, through the ritual she had conducted and the years following it, shaping him to become what he was now. A dragonrider, a man changed by her leading him to touch and embrace his darkest aspects.

‘The Lord of Light’s faith will become the religion across the world and no Godswood or Sept will stop him. Balerion will purge this earth from the failed Gods’ temples, of stone or old rotting trees.’ Kinvara’s words dripped like poison from her lips. ‘No cunt will stop His will even if you’re in love with it and-’ the rest of her words were cut off as Jon backhanded Kinvara with force. Her head inclined on the side, stormy blue eyes turning at him furiously, hatred ablaze in them. Jon looked back at her in disgust as with the same hand he gripped her by the neck and pulled her before his furious face.

‘Focus on the fucking faith and only, stop mendling with how I will rule the world. Your purpose was fulfilled when I stepped out of that pyre. You won’t force any faith on anyone, no one will burn, ever again, by Balerion, wildfire or at the stake over the God of Light.’ Jon’s words left Kinvara speechless as he recalled the actions of Melisandre of Ashai. The line had finally been drawn, even if that cast Kinvara openly against him. She wasn’t a loved religious figure yet, she was dangerous but not powerful like the priesthood of the Seven used to be. If he had to, he would take care of that role too, as long as he was to rule a bloodless reign. If he had to, he would take her out of the way, knowing his intention would be shown in the flames. ‘You see in fire, I see in blood.’ Jon’s voice was a sharp whisper. ‘I see your blood spilling if you don’t hold your tongue.’ Jon’s voice was a hoarse whisper. Jon’s stomach clenched at the infuriating smirk that suddenly plastered across her face, cheek reddened, breath as heavy as his coming out of her flaring nostrils.

‘I see blood spilt too… royal blood.’ she whispered pointedly at him, her gaze unfocusing momentary, causing Jon’s blood to turn into ice.

_Sansa_

Jon didn’t expect more as he unlaunched from her neck, rushing out of the room and to Sansa’s chambers. The Guards were there and didn’t dare stop him as he rushed inside the chamber, finding a fearful young man setting the table, his hands started trembling at Jon’s bursting in the room.

‘Where is the Queen?’ Jon demanded out of breath, looking around the solar and through the doors leading to the bedchamber. Sansa looked up at him from the bed she had laid, surprise flickered over her face at the rushed tone.

‘Inside, Your Grace,’ the servant stammered and trailed off as he set the carafe with wine on the table. Jon walked to the chambers, closing the inside doors, gaining some privacy for himself and Sansa, his eyes were still frantic as he looked around the chamber before he could take Sansa in. She was safe, alarmed and tired but safe upon her bed, her dagger on her nightstand, along her jar of paste for her scars and that small vial Sam had given to her in King’s Landing. Jon’s curiosity over it was overpowered by another question.

‘Where is Ghost?’ he asked, battling his voice to sound calmer, Sansa’s knit brows were evident since it didn’t work.

‘He had to hunt. What’s wrong, Jon?’ Sansa asked. He shook his head, relief sweeping through him at the lack of danger even if Sansa’s eyes were filled with worry. Anger spiked inside him for Kinvara playing with him, knowing his only weakness of copper hair and sky blue eyes. He sighed as he approached Sansa who tried to stand but Jon held a gentle hand on her shoulder, sitting next to her.

‘I can keep you company, until he’s back.’ Jon offered, the guards were loyal and silent, yet no one knew of their newly established steps in their relationship, no one knew they were one. For a moment Jon hoped Old Walder Frey hadn’t coupled with one of his many wives in the bloody room or the bed he and Sansa now sat on. He tried to shake off the disturbing idea, reminded of another unethical monster who married young women, only there, they were his own daughters.

Jon took a deep breath, taking off his own cloak and throwing it upon hers on a nearby chair, his arms wrapping around her delicately, inhaling the rosewater in her hair, the sweetness of her skin. Her hair was tightly held up in a bun at the base of her neck. Jon marveled at how she pulled out one long pin and her hair cascaded on her back in copper waves.

Jon and Sansa remained like that for endless moments, drawing on each other’s very presence in their embrace. Every stop and place of significance had to do with House Targaryen from the distant past or House Stark from the most recent one. From Dorne where Jon had been born up beyond the Wall where he had been reborn, the map of Westeros was full of places that held emotional, strategic or political ties to both. The price for surviving the wars, for winning them was to stand witness to the remains, or in many cases the ruins of the price won. They had both moved on, one way or the other, but still some wounds were too deep to heal in a matter of a few years.

‘Will you tell me what’s wrong?’ Sansa asked and Jon sighed as they loosened their arms around each other, still staying close through. He smiled at her, his hand trailing her arm.

‘I took care of Kinvara, she won’t be a problem in the North, I promise.’ Jon tried, knowing they needed to speak over everything on their way. Sansa sighed and nodded.

‘I don’t like or trust her,’ Sansa admitted bitterly, looking deep into Jon’s eyes, he nodded, cupping Sansa’s cheek gently.

‘She will fulfill her purpose and I will make sure she will get a temple of her Lord far away from you,’ Jon tried to dismiss the priestess’ power, even if he knew, when it would come to it, things wouldn’t be so easy. Sansa sighed, probably knowing that already, her eyes lowering. Kinvara wasn’t Sansa’s only problem, hence Jon’s reassurance didn’t work.

‘Will you tell me what’s wrong?’ Jon chose to echo Sansa’s words, his eyes were soft as he urged her. ‘Talk to me, please, we said we’d communicate better, you and I.’ Jon whispered in Sansa’s ear as he leaned in, kissing her neck, he was pleading he knew but they needed to change their ways. He had failed her in King’s Landing by wanting her there despite her will, despite what he knew the place meant for her. He had failed to communicate with her again before Harrenhal but he had been sure they made some steps forward at Riverrun. Now he could see if they let this go unspoken, everything they felt, the distance would only grow again.

‘I don’t want to be the fool, or the whore, the third Stark consumed by a Targaryen, melted under the fire…’ Sansa’s words were monotonous, achingly calm and true. ‘The Wolf who fell in love in the South and neglected the love of her people. I don’t want to be seen like Robb… or like you in the eyes of my people.’ Sansa whispered finally, her words wounding him, deeper than the fear Kinvara inflicted on him over Sansa, deeper than anything Sansa had screamed, spoken or whispered at him so far.

Reflecting on what had happened, Jon didn’t want Sansa to be displayed like he had, only now he would be the dragon who dragged the wolf by his claws. He knew, no matter how far and wide the truth of his motives and methods spread across the lands, many people still wouldn’t believe he did it all to pacify the Dragon Queen, especially in the North, where she had attempted to dictate her rule. Jon knew people respected him for saving them from the Long Night and stopping Daenerys Targaryen, but they weren’t so easy on forgetting he brought her North as the Queen of Westeros in the first place.

Jon exhaled the breath he had trapped inside his lungs, releasing Sansa from his arms only to face her, his hand moving to hold her chin gently with his fingers, her eyes were stormy, filled with pain and unshed tears. She was breaking after four years on her own and his return, weeks ago, Jon could see, every step of the journey was another task for Sansa to overcome for what happened to herself and her family.

‘Sansa… you are loved,’ Jon whispered honestly, his breath brushing against her lips. ‘While I try to inspire awe and respect and fear, you are already loved, effortlessly, justifiably; here in the Riverlands, at the Vale and the North.’ Jon added, his words firm but gentle. ‘I’m sure across the rest of the kingdoms too. They were ready to crown you Queen of the Six Kingdoms before I arrived-’

‘I never wanted that. I would have refused and leave’ Sansa interjected.

‘I know that,’ Jon countered as quickly. ‘I know that and if Kinvara didn’t lie, your ascend to the throne would have put you in danger, it’s why I chose that moment to return.’ Jon went on, brushing her cheek with his knuckles, the first tear falling reached his finger and he took it away. Her eyes were questioning, he had implied that before but she had chosen not to listen, now she was open to it. ‘She had seen in the flames, after your ascension to the throne there would be a plot to take you down. She couldn’t see it all but it was enough for me to make my move. I was ready to return, you possibly in danger only urged me faster. Jon explained quickly, Sansa sighed and nodded.

‘I also know the North is free thanks to you…’ Jon smiled at her, echoing his words at the docks, the day they parted. ‘I know you will abdicate if the North wants me but I also know how loyal they are to you. I know them, they used to be my people too, Sansa… I know how far they would go for you, how insulted they were when I knelt to Daenerys, no matter the motive. I know…’ Jon admitted in one breath, wishing to show her he was aware of the game they were playing. ‘I also know I needed at least one ally to cross the kingdoms I claimed, and who would have been better but Queen Sansa the Loved?’ Jon wondered and Sansa sighed.

‘And once you’re in the North?’ Sansa asked daringly, Jon’s eyes softened, leaning in to peck her lips lightly.

‘Once I’m in the North, I will enjoy going back home… with you…’ Jon’s words were spoken through a smile Sansa finally returned. ‘I will restore my name there, my reason behind it all, I owe that to them and to myself… If they accept my words, I will be satisfied, though if they want me to be their King… they will have to give up their independence otherwise the rest of the Kingdoms will get ideas of separating, I can’t have that while my reign is so fresh and unstable…’ Jon explained but this time Sansa shook her head.

‘They would never give up their independence, Jon…’ Sansa pointed out and Jon nodded.

‘Exactly…’ Jon indulged her with his plan. ‘So, I will meet our nephew and accept him as your Heir. I will declare I accept you as Queen in the North, and Queen of my heart too… if you’ll have me.’ Jon added calmly, this time both his hands going to Sansa’s cheeks, brushing his calloused thumbs on her soft skin. ‘We could seal the peace treaty with our betrothal.’ Jon looked deep into Sansa’s eyes, her own gaze widened, shocked, and hopeful.

‘I… I thought…’ Sansa stammered, Jon waited. ‘When I challenged you… when I told you I would abdicate… I hoped you would see through it, you clearly did, knowing our people. I also hoped you would come North with me so they could see you again, so they could understand you, if we are to stand a chance into getting together without rousing wars in our names or against us…’ Sansa’s words were quiet, truthful. ‘I always believed you would be a good King, for the North or the South, and you are but the North…’

‘But the North has a Queen, a just and good Queen which I adore and promised her I will find a way to be with her no matter what. But we must be smarter… right?’ Jon recalled her words without detail, he wouldn’t mention her father or brother, not now at the Twins. Sansa nodded as she wrapped her own arms around him, Jon inhaled her familiar scent, his eyes drifting closed as he breathed her in. His reign was so very young, just like their newly made relationship, just like Rickard who wouldn’t be able to stand on his own as King in the North yet. Held at the balance, they could either establish their rule or lose everything if they weren’t careful.

‘When I saw you landing in the dragonpit, I thought you would attempt to snatch the North from me,’ Sansa whispered and Jon sighed and kissed her lips again and again. ‘Yet, I would have given it to you willingly, if the people wished you back, I would step down. I will step down if they do.’ Sansa added firmly and Jon could admire her for her love for the people. As Lady of Winterfell, she had been trusted by everyone, with the Castle, the entirety of the North, during the Long Night, she had made sure no one went to sleep with an empty stomach in the middle of Winter. She had been loved way before she was crowned.

‘You two are inseparable, but I want the North, and you, I meant it when I said I want it all.’ Jon added smiling down at her. ‘I want it all and I will have it all, if you reach out, if you’ll have me I will have it all, everything I wanted.’ Jon’s words were carefully chosen, he didn’t want Sansa to think he meant the North just politically, no that was her domain. He had accepted it the moment he admitted to her the North was free thanks to her indeed. He wanted it all because she was his everything, no kingdoms and no power compared to a life with her. No matter the struggles and technicalities, no matter the challenges ahead, he wanted it all, Sansa was all he wanted.

The couple remained in each other’s arms, not daring do something more as people were in the solar, preparing dinner. They both knew, as they closed in to the North, they would have to be careful. For the South, the King would need a wife and Queen Sansa Stark would be good, just and lovely, but for the North, the Queen of it couldn't be compromised, not after what she had been through, not by the man who left a King and returned with a Dragoness, only to leave once again and come back a dragon himself.

Jon broke the embrace first, stealing a kiss from Sansa’s lips, smiling at her as the tears finally fell but no more gathered in her eyes. He could see how tired and sleepless she looked.

‘Let’s eat, then I could wait until you sleep,’ Jon offered gently and Sansa nodded, the nightmares had succumbed under Jon’s presence in her bed. The nights following their stop at the Twins had been filled with passion, love and safety, helping Sansa with her terrors. Jon stood first, offering his hand for Sansa to take. She did so and followed him in the solar of her chambers, where only the young servant had remained to attend to them.

Jon and Sansa sat close to each other, eating in comfortable silence, drinking wine and ale, engaging in smalltalk about the next day, when they would keep up the Kingsroad. The screech of the dragon overhead had Sansa pausing but Jon was grateful she didn’t comment on it. Balerion had definitely felt Jon’s fury before, he would never act on his own but Jon knew the dragon had been as furious and dangerous as Jon himself while with Kinvara.

Jon stood first, the exhaustion finally catching up with him, riding for so many hours under the rain had left him exhausted, along the emotional strain of his fight with Kinvara and the conversation with Sansa. He needed a bath and a good night’s sleep before they could move on the next day. His eyes felt heavy as he enjoyed the ale on his tongue and the sight of Sansa in her beautiful dress and copper sea surrounding her.

Sansa always had a lemon cake at the end of her meals, loving the aftertaste, Jon was loving it too in their kisses. She smiled at him as she stifled a yawn before standing from her chair, the young man filling her cup with wine after he refilled Jon’s with ale.

Time slowed down, every moment dragging as Jon drank from his cup, his gaze falling from Sansa to the servant who had remained oddly close to the young Queen while her attention was drawn by the crackling flames in the fireplace, seemingly lost in her own thoughts again, oblivious.

Jon’s eyes widened as he saw the blade unsheathed from its hiding place in the man’s clothes, he murmured something about the Freys and the Starks, giving Jon moments to throw his cup down, snapping Sansa out of her stupor in time to look from the hateful expression of the servant before her, down at the blade in complete shock.

Jon’s voice was smothered in his throat as he advanced, only his arm could slip between Sansa and the assassin to shield her as the man thrust the dagger forward. Jon’s strangled gasp was overpowered by Sansa’s cry, her eyes wide and shocked as the three collided with each other, warm blood seeping down their bodies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember when Arya slaughtered every male but left every female Frey out there? did she care about consequences of her actions? Did she think carefully over her plan? Of course not, that's why we have retaliation now...  
> I can't wait to hear what you think of it!


	17. Sansa IX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *withdraws the knife*  
> just keep scrolling!

_Chapter Seventeen - Sansa IX_

_‘Tell them… Winter Came for House Frey.’_

The sound was muffled in Sansa’s ears, her vision blurry, her knees weak yet still holding the rest of her body upright. Warm blood seeped through Sansa’s dress, pooling on her belly. The terror was paralysing, another blade so close to her, hateful eyes of a man upon her. Shock raked her, the metallic scent of blood making her stomach turn. Her own dagger foolishly forgotten on her nightstand. 

_‘Stick’em with the pointy end.’_

_‘I’ll protect you, I promise.’_

The world had slowed down around them as their bodies remained collided, the heartbeats dragging as she found herself held by Jon whose eyes had closed for a moment, his face frowned, brows knit together in pain, her assassin still close to them both, dagger shot out, penetrating Jon’s forearm that had shielded Sansa’s chest. Her eyes travelled down between the three of them the moment the nameless man withdrew the blade, causing fresh blood to gush out of the stab wound, staining Jon’s skin and spilling down her dress. The man had no time to make another move, Jon’s eyes opened and Sansa gasped, stepping away at the sight of them and in raw instinct for another attempt of the blade. 

Her senses went on overdrive within a heartbeat, knocking the breath out of her lungs as Jon punched the man, striking him to the ground as the door burst open, northern guards and Ghost bursting in. Sansa couldn’t help but scream as Jon punched the man senseless with both hands, his wounded arm bleeding freely. She was certain Jon didn’t feel the pain, his eyes were clouded, darkened with something she hadn’t seen in years, hatred, madness, fury she hadn’t witnessed since the day Jon had gotten Ramsay Bolton within his grasp. 

‘Jon, stop!’ she managed the words, not sure if they sounded as desperate and breathless as she heard them in her own ears. The man was almost unconscious from the beating but Jon was not done with him, towering over him and landing punch after punch, the man’s cheekbone already hollowed. 

Heaving, Jon stood up, grasping the semi coherent man and dragging him out of Sansa’s chambers, leaving a trail of blood behind them, she knew where Jon was taking him and her stomach was turning again. Jon’s sword was sheathed around his belt but Sansa had a sick feeling in her gut it wouldn’t be used and although Ghost growled and tailed Jon, matching him like the old companion had had been since he was a pup, Jon wouldn’t spare the direwolf a meal, another beast would have the honors, to Sansa’s sickening horror. 

‘Jon!!’ Sansa screamed behind Jon, begging for the madness to stop as people scattered away from them while Jon moved the blooded man by the collar out to the courtyard of the Tower. Across the bridge, Robb and her mother had been slaughtered, now on this Tower, she and Jon were writing another page of blood for House Stark. Jon’s left arm was bleeding freely as he held at the man, in all her frenzy, Sansa pushed away the realisation his blood was darker in color than what it should have been, of what she had seen of its shade before. With the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Kinvara’s flowing dresses following them, a shocked expression plastered on her face at the commotion. Sansa couldn’t understand if it was genuine feeling for the priestess as the dragon’s screech over their heads coaxed a shiver to run through Sansa's spine. She wanted to stop what was to come as they reached the stone courtyard and Jon threw the man on the floor, commanding Ghost to stay away, the direwolf obeying under Jon’s gaze while the dragon landed, its claws breaking the stone as it crawled closer on all fours. 

‘Jon, please stop.’ Sansa finally caught up with him, her hands reaching for his shoulders, afraid she would cause him pain if she touched his forearm, although he seemed oblivious to it. People gathered around them, some murmured but most were muted as Balerion screeched, focusing upon Jon, waiting even though Sansa stood between them. Jon and Sansa’s eyes met in a battle of fury and shock until his gaze broke their lock and travelled down to the blood on her dress, his own blood. Sansa wasn’t sure he was coherent of the fact she was unharmed, the storm in his eyes cleared only for a moment as he took her in. 

‘He tried to kill you,’ his voice was hoarse, impatient for her upcoming reasoning. ‘Would you leave him live?’ he questioned and Sansa took a shaky breath. She would kill the man, if not with her own dagger, she would pass the sentence and her Guards would take care of the execution, like Arya had done for her with Littlefinger. 

She killed her enemies, she was a wolf. 

She fought the urge to admit that she would even allow Ghost to devour the man, direwolf or dragon, it didn’t matter, what truly mattered was what Jon would be like for the people if he fed men to his dragon, criminals, murderers, but still people, she hated the method, she hated the fear. She didn’t care about the dragon on her back or the direwolf by their side, the bleeding man to their feet or the fearful yet watching crowd around them, she only cared about Jon and the step he was about to make. 

‘He did, but I’m alive and-’

‘And if the message is not passed across, there will be scores of them trying again and again, until one will succeed and I won’t bury you in the Crypts, Sansa.’ Jon’s reasoning was drowning her in its violent truth. 

She had enemies, of course she did, an unmarried Queen with a legitimised bastard for her Heir, the final Stark standing after her House was involved in all major wars of the past years across the continent, that’s why she slept with a dagger under her pillow, that’s why Jon’s blood was turning muted and cold on the fabrics of her dress. ‘You won’t be harmed, Sansa. I promised you that, a long time ago, now step aside.’ His words were final as Jon wretched himself away from Sansa, dragging the man with him, throwing him before Balerion who growled while Ghost rushed close to Sansa, his own breath reeked of blood. Sansa felt lightheaded at what was coming, her eyes closing in dread. 

‘This man just attempted to kill Queen Sansa. Instead, he injured me. He’s sentenced to death for his actions.’ Jon deadpanned, Sansa shivered at the sound of it. 

‘Aōha havor syt sir.’ Jon’s foreign words matched his ways, his dragonblood was darker, in every sense; as the direwolf shielded Sansa from the scene, Balerion advanced; yet the beaten man made no sound, too wounded from Jon’s fists as the dragon devoured him, so unlike Ramsay who had screamed and wailed as his hounds torn him limb for limb under Sansa’s watch. 

‘Anyone trying to harm the Queen will face the same. Anyone attempting to kill either of us, drowning the kingdoms in blood will have the same fate!’ Jon shouted out the words, looking around him threateningly. Despite her frenzy, Sansa realised he didn’t burn the man, same beast, different means for fear, for awe, for punishment. Jon’s sword had been replaced by his dragon to make justice in the world, using the dragon as a catalyst no sword could stand up for. A part of her whispered in her mind, what would have happened if she had been stabbed to death at the Twins, just like Robb? The North would have revolted, reeling for her death. As King of the Seven Kingdoms, what Jon was to do for her attempted assassination if not make a spectacle of the punishment for her almost killer? The Northmen thirsted for revenge over the Red Wedding for years, they would demand the same for the sheer attempt for her life once the word spread, their love for her came with a price Sansa had to accept the weight of, same stood for Jon’s love for her. 

She grasped at Ghost’s fur, staining it with Jon’s blood, only then realising what spectacle they must have been making with their mythical beasts and bloodied hands, wolves circling a man until the dragon of the strangely formed pack had the final kill. Sansa smothered the sick satisfaction she felt as the idea invaded her mind. The onslaught of thoughts and feelings along the constant smell of blood in her nostrils making her gag. 

‘Everyone is what they are and where they are for a reason!’ Kinvara was seizing the moment while Balerion made a disgusting gurgling noise as he ate the man. ‘I saw the attempt in the flames! I saw what was coming and our King saved Queen Sansa on time! For this is the will of the Lord of Light, they are meant to live and lead us to better days.’ Kinvara’s words coursed through Sansa like fire. She hated the woman, she hated the violence, the agitation caused within her after years of staying idle, the passion and thrill of the sick moment after so long staying silent, cold, unsatisfied.

Jon was moving away from Kinvara, Balerion kicking off to the sky once again. Sansa felt her own legs moving on their own accord as he walked besides Jon, the tension between them magnifying as their boots echoed on the stone floor, Ghost tailing them. They left behind them the crowd that was increasingly loud of the spectacle they just had and Kinvara’s words that followed. Sansa didn’t miss the excitement that coursed through the people, enjoying public executions like in King’s Landing for Tyrion Lannister, like in the stairs of the Sept of Baelor for her own father. She had to bandage Jon’s cut, she had to speak to him, she had to… 

The realisation of how far Jon would go -had gone- for her both scared and enraptured her. 

They were soon entering her chambers again, all bloodied and disordered as her guards were searching through it in an attempt to see if this had been an orchestrated attack or a single assassin attempt. Jon had been reckless, he should have waited to extract information from the assassin first. Sansa wondered what means he would have used for the man to speak, she shuddered at the thought as she silently pushed Jon down on a chair and reached for the supplies a maid had brought for her to use. Sansa clenched her fists, willing her hands to stop shaking, cleaning them before she took the pair of scissors and cut down the fabrics. She poured the jar with the strong scent of alcohol, ignoring Jon’s sharp inhale of breath as the two remained silent while the rest around them noisily searched the chamber while maids of the Riverlands rushed around the room. 

‘My Queen, the man was the husband of Derwa Frey, a commoner of the South married to her after Winter came for the Freys by your sister… Derwa Frey probably sworn him to avenge her family’s death.’ Edgar Hornwood, her Queensguard’s Commander spoke, standing still before Sansa who was cleaning Jon’s dark blood from the wound that looked raw and angry, it would leave a scar, she was sure. She sighed and stood, looking at her Commander, she had expected from her guards to have searched the men who entered her chambers but she knew the man before her would take care of the misstep to maintain his honor. 

‘Find that Derwa, kill her before the retaliation can ripple out and reach my uncle’s wife. This is between House Stark and House Frey,’ Sansa’s words were commanding, ‘Now House Targaryen too,’ Sansa’s words turned quiet, grave as she glanced at Jon who watched her silently, not an ounce of regret in the dark pools of his eyes. 

‘As you command, Your Grace. I would like to-’ the man was obviously struggling with the attempt that had been stopped by Jon instead her Guard. 

‘We’ll talk about it later, now go, Commander.’ Sansa’s voice left no space for argument as the man bowed, glancing at Jon for a moment before he could leave the chambers. House Hornwood had answered Jon and her call for the Battle of the Bastards, Edward Hornwood had died fighting the dead but his son Edgar had pledged himself to the Queen in the North in the day of her coronation along the rest of the Northern Houses. With Lord Royce’s help, Sansa had assembled her Queensguard, hoping to keep her safe during her reign, this had been the first misstep in the four years ever since and Sansa wished for the incident to be just that, a mistake. She pushed down the idea of spies and traitors waiting for the right moment to get to her while she’s in the South, making everything look like someone else’s mistake. It wouldn’t be hard to achieve a staged accident, not after the stupid things Robb did while at war and Arya’s reckless thirst for revenge over the banes House Stark endured. 

She could have fetched a maid to bring her the jar with the paste Sam had made for her wounds but she turned abruptly the moment Jon tried to catch her hand. She walked to her nightstand and took the small vial first, slipping it inside her corset, noting never to keep it abandoned again, the dagger around her waist and the jar in her hands. She shivered as she heard Kinvara’s voice closing in, praising the God of Light for Sansa and Jon surviving the night. Sansa bit down on her lower lip, taking a steadying breath as she returned to Jon who watched her every move with burning eyes. 

‘Sansa…’ her name in his mouth had her eyes momentary travelling to his before she could open the jar in silence, take same of the paste, applying it upon the wound gingerly. She started wrapping the bandage around the wound, hoping it won’t get an infection as Kinvara burst in the room. Jon frowned at the red woman, tearing his eyes from Sansa for the first time. Whatever Jon wished to tell her died on his lips as the priestess reached them both with wild eyes.

‘Praise the Lord, you’re both safe.’ Sansa couldn’t help but look at the priestess as well, pulled by her work on Jon’s bandages. Kinvara was looking at Jon’s arm with worry but when her eyes turned to Sansa, the priestess turned serious and unreadable, for a moment her eyes losing focus, looking deep into Sansa’s as if she was setting her gaze at the young Queen for the first time. Sansa evaded the way her priestess looked at her, her own eyes going down at her hands, trembling again around Jon’s forearm. She felt her tongue heavy with everything she wanted to say and nothing at all. The unease eating at her from inside out, feeling uncomfortable in her own skin as she fought the urge to scream and kill the priestess or run and hide like a small child, under the woman’s fiery gaze. 

‘Azor Ahai…’ the words sounded breathless, slipping from Kinvara’s lips in a whisper of realisation.

‘You’re growing more useless by the day,’ Jon accused Kinvara harshly, his tone forcing Sansa to look between him and the red woman. The priestess gasped and narrowed her eyes at him but restrained herself, probably for the first time, this was not the first time Sansa witnessed their hateful exchange. Sansa wondered if all this was a play from the priestess’ side in her effort to remain by Jon’s side as he grew more tired of her by the day. They oddly reminded Sansa of herself and Littlefinger, only back then, she could manage the snake around her shoulders, Jon kept lashing out, too openly even for Sansa’s liking. 

‘If it wasn’t for my warning she… Queen Sansa would have been stabbed.’ Kinvara pointed out and only then Sansa realised why Jon had burger in her chambers like that, minutes before the attack. Kinvara had warned him, maybe she was right, maybe without her, she would have succumbed to her wounds by then, and what would have become of the world with Jon alone and in need of revenge for her death? 

‘Or maybe you drove the man here in the first place.’ Jon countered and Kinvara seemed genuinely shocked, Sansa fought so hard to read the woman like she had been taught by the monsters in her life, she failed to extract the truth or her motive from this one. 

‘Jon…’ Sansa for the first time after the scene at the courtyard addressed him, her voice calm even to her own surprise. He looked back at her, his eyes softening, clear and calmer than ever before since he took the stabbing for her. ‘Maybe we owe thanks to the priestess instead of accusation…’ Sansa tried to play her old game. ‘If I judge by the way you entered my chambers you were warned indeed… If you were oblivious to it all; maybe you wouldn’t have been as quick to get between me and the man.’ Sansa added, looking deep into Jon’s dark gaze, searching his own reasons and motives, his own truth, she found only uncertainty and fear over yet another woman he had brought across Westeros, and for Sansa herself and what she was about to do. Sansa turned and looked at Kinvara as she tied the bandages tight enough to stay secured around the wound though Jon frowned at the force of her fingers. 

‘I owe you thanks, my Lady, if you hadn’t warned King Aegon, I would have been dead by now.’ Sansa did her best to be truthful with the woman before her, a woman all seeing, with motives unseen. Kinvara inclined her head, glancing at Jon almost in triumph for the recognition of her actions by Sansa. ‘Now, I would like to have a word with the King, please...’ Sansa added, her eyes staying on Kinvara for a moment more before she looked at her guards too. She didn’t need them then, she had need of them to search before that man drew a knife on her. Everyone stumbled out, Kinvara following, after she threw a poisonous glare at Jon. The door was closed, leaving the couple of cousins alone and in heavy silence. 

Sansa took a deep shaky breath, Ghost was sniffing the table trying one of the lemon cakes from the floor before he could go and guard the door, eyeing Sansa with what the Queen would have sworn was an apology for not being there on time. When she looked back at Jon’s eyes, his stare was unapologetic, poised, fire and blood in his eyes. She shook her head, slumping down on a chair across Jon who waited for her, she didn’t grant him the favour, her icy silence a treatment he had endured before. 

‘Would you have pardoned him? Jon finally asked, exasperated, looking deep into her eyes as his right hand ran through his hair in frustration. Sansa looked at him steadily, wondering for a moment if lying to him would have been as easy as lying to the priestess he dragged along. Lies always came back with a vengeance for both, so she decided against it. 

‘No, I would have him executed.’ Sansa admitted and Jon finally nodded his head, glancing at Ghost. 

‘Or you would have given him to Ghost for a meal.’ Jon added for confirmation, Sansa sighed, looking down at her bloodied lap. 

‘I wouldn’t have stopped Ghost if he had advanced, no.’ she admitted again, hating how quickly he extracted the truth, how fast she embraced it. 

‘Then why the fuss over what I do if you do exactly the same, Sansa?’ Jon’s words had her looking back at him, her eyes narrowing. 

‘I wouldn’t have dragged the man to an unaware audience, all beaten bloody, nor would I have summoned Ghost -or whatever you did for Balerion to reach you- to eat him as a spectacle.’ Sansa accused, finally raising back to her feet, Jon stood too, grasping her arm with his good hand before she could walk away. 

‘If he had attacked Rickard in his nursery…’ Jon’s words cut deep, sharper than any blade she had ever suffered. ‘If he had gotten my heart instead of my arm, would you have set up court, fed him and preserved him until the day of the trial? Huh?’ she was left breathless at the images his words painted for her in her mind, livid, achievable, always a grim possibility. ‘And then what? You would have given him a painless, quick death by the swing of a sword? That’s what fair Queens do?’ Jon challenged her in a hoarse whisper, stepping into her, grasping at her other arm as well, mirroring the moments they shared in King’s Landing, another confrontation, another step forward or a leap back. Holding her gaze, heartbeats erratic, causing Sansa’s lips to part but no sound or breath to come out of them as the air hitched in her throat. 

_‘No one can protect anyone.’_

Her own words echoed through her mind. What would she have done? She would have watched the assassin die some horrific death and then she would have mourned, for another Stark gone, for another piece of her heart killed. The idea of losing Rickard or Jon was paralysing, igniting a protectiveness so fierce inside her it could have easily transformed to rage.

Jon had protected her through everything that came her way, no matter what that meant for her, Sansa was unharmed, bathed in the blood of her protector, untouched, just like she had promised herself she would be for the rest of her life the night after Ramsay’s death. She was a survivor, yes she would have killed the man for his attempted assanation and a dark, twisted part of hers was glad Jon did it for her. That part also ignited fire deep inside her belly, quickening desire for the man who held her as they both stood bathed in his blood. 

Maybe she was a hypocrite, Jon was a Queenslayer himself, a King only took the throne he deserved after another was struck down, a nameless Queenslayer got eaten or beheaded for the same crime. It had been her betrayal that saved Jon, spreading the truth of his parentage, saving him from being not only a Queenslayer but a bastard son at that. She had been ready to start war on Jon’s name when everything had been savaged already by Daenerys Targaryen. 

Maybe he was a monster who laid waste with fire and blood, maybe she was a monster too for bringing ice and steel in the aftermath. 

‘If he had hurt you or Rickard… I would have ripped him out, his wife, children and parents, all of them, root and stem.’ Sansa admitted darkly, reaching even closer if that was physically possible, finally wrapping her arms around Jon. His warmth, his fire seeping through her clothes to her very core, just like his blood had. Relief suddenly rushing through her in waves, he was safe, alive, Rickard was in Winterfell with Brienne. The shock finally settled in, soothed only by Jon who crushed his lips on hers, launching on for a kiss that had her shuddering at the realisation of how different and how alike they had become, or always had been. 

She wanted to scream at him to stop feeding people to the dragon, as he started ripping at her dress’ cords and laces. She wanted to shout at him to stop being cruel, to send the dragon and the priestess away as he broke the kiss and looked at his own blood on her clothes, shoving them down at her feet, his eyes lingering on the vial that emerged from within the fabrics. Sansa pulled him to her by the chin for another kiss as she clawed at his own clothes, tearing the jerkin off him, leaving him in his blooded shirt and breeches. She wanted to scream at herself to stop, moulded by monsters, maybe she had become a monster herself, if still alive, those monsters would cower in corners at her very presence. Instead of screaming or shouting, she moaned for Jon, his hands touching her carved skin, his lips wet and warm, his breath hot on her neck as she pulled at the cords of his breeches, Jon kicking his boots for Sansa to push down his clothing. 

‘Is it so hard for you? To reach out and accept me as I am? Like I accept you, like I always accepted you? Is it so hard to reach and take it all?’ he wondered in his gruff voice, shaking her to the core as his hands lifted the shift that clung to her in dried blood. Sansa allowed him to peel it off, leaving her in her smallclothes as he inspected her body for any new injury. Only her old scars, each and every one of them worshipped already from him in the nights they got spared for each other, a night like that one. 

‘It is not,’ Sansa admitted, both to Jon and herself. It was as easy as breathing, she accepted Jon of what he was at Castle Black, apologised to him for not accepting him while they were children. She accepted Jon, supported him as King in the North and even when he returned a man changed; with a dragoness at his side, she accepted him still, hugged him and stood silent instead of condemning him for his change and unknown motives back then. Now she could only accept him once again, loved him for saving them all from the night, for saving them of the tyrant who would have conquered Westeros with or without him. Sansa accepted Jon for whatever he was now, a dragon himself, powerful and right in his anger for revenge and setting everything right. His cause and motives clear, known and understood. Sansa accepted Jon because she accepted herself, after years of turning from porcelain to ivory, to steel, to ice, she was melting and feeling again, satisfying a thirst that lasted years. ‘I accept you, I want you, I love you.’ Sansa finally added, her hands taking off his shirt, running down the stab wounds that had sent him to his death in the past, the dark blood somehow explained, reborn, a wolf turned into a dragon, forged in fire. 

He was a changed man indeed, and she wasn’t scared of that change, not anymore, not for a moment in her life. For she was changed and distorted too. 

Jon was pulling Sansa into his arms, in another fierce kiss, hoisting her up, not minding his wound as he held her against him, her legs wrapping around his hips as Jon took them to her bedchamber, reaching and setting her on the furs of her bed, covering her body with his as he knelt in the cradle of her open thighs. His good arm held him from crushing Sansa while his other hand, still in blood and trembling from extortion and pain, caressed her ribs until it reached her smallclothes and delved in, finding her warm and wet for him. Peppering her collarbone and neck with kisses, causing her to hiss and moan in pleasure, her own hands exploring his body, having learnt every inch of it already. 

‘So warm, so ready for me,’ Jon’s hot breath caressed her skin as he captured her left nipple into his mouth. Sansa’s body arched into him as his fingers parted her folds and the hill of his hand found her nub of nerves. ‘Mine,’ he added before sucking at her breast and entering a finger inside her warmth, eliciting another moan from Sansa.

‘Yours,’ she groaned almost incoherently, her body was responding to him instantly, the heat inside her pooling tightly, ready to explode already. She gasped in protest as he withdrew his hand, leaving her with a feeling of emptiness, only to feel him tearing at her smallclothes, too impatient to slip them down her legs. She welcomed the anticipation that had replaced the instinctive fear at a man tearing at her clothes, Jon would never hurt her. Sansa rushed to readjust her legs, her toes curling around his own smallclothes, pushing them down in vain before Jon could help with the same hand, still wet with her juices, pushing the final piece of fabric separating them enough for his cock to be freed. Jon took himself at hand, rubbing the head of his cock on Sansa’s wet core, laving it and massaging her just as he had learnt she loved. She moaned, reaching for his hand with her own. 

‘I want you... I need you inside me,’ Sansa’s voice left Jon speechless for a moment, he only looked at her with those dark, clouded with passion eyes, she had an effect on him like no other woman, an effect he beheld on her equally. He was a dragon and he was hers. ‘I want you to fuck me, Jon.’ she added and saw the instant his composure snapped. The tension and shock of almost losing her; married with the fact of both surviving another day was clear in his eyes. Only then he realised the pain on his arm as it started shaking, he let his guard down, bare and wounded in her arms as she laid bare and scarred in his. 

She took control from there, grasping his cock and bringing him at her entrance, her legs opening widely for him, wrapping around his waist again, bringing his injured arm to her chest, showing him what she wanted, she rubbed herself the way she liked the moment Jon slammed inside her, making both scream in ecstasy as they clicked together in an embrace. 

‘Like that, my love?’ Jon rasped out, looking deep into her eyes before he could pull her into another kiss, bruising and heated as he thrust into her again and again. 

‘Just like that, fuck, like that…’ Sansa’s words broke the kiss, followed by a moan she couldn’t help as he squeezed at her breast before he could trail wet kisses back to it again, groaning her name in answer to her profanity. He loved her tits; she had come to realise, he also loved going deep inside her, she moaned as Jon’s injured hand caressed her thigh up to her knee, where he untangled her leg from his waist by pushing it closer to Sansa’s chest until he had it rest on his shoulder, turning and biting into her calf. 

He would never scar her, he only wanted to pleasure her and he succeeded as a hot spike of heat rushed straight to her cunt, causing Sansa to scream as he thrust deeper, slowing his hips to savour the moment of wantonness. Sansa’s hands reached his neck and shoulder, unable to stop her nails from clawing at his skin, hard enough to cause the same sensation his bite left. Her name falling from his lips was a gasp, a whisper, a prayer, as he resumed his thrusts, deep and relentless until Sansa felt his hand moving down to their joined bodies, finding her hand, replacing it as he wanted to be the sole reason of her please, caressing her through the wetness and heat, causing her to peak in stunned silence against his neck.

She hadn’t felt such pleasure before, knocking the breath out of her lungs. Waves of pleasure coursing through her body, from her cunt pulsating to her toes, her spine, her arms and neck, her skin tingled, her entire body shook with her orgasm as Sansa finally heard herself scream Jon’s name. Eyes shut and her head thrown back on the bed, grasping at the furs as he caressed her through it all, legs shaking where they held him thrusting inside her.

‘Yes, my love, my wolf,’ his voice had her eyes opening, taking him in as he watched her peaking, emotions she always wished a man, the right man would feel for her, now flickered through Jon’s eyes. ‘My Sansa,’ he gasped as she engulfed him in her arms for his final thrusts, keeping him close as his forehead rested on hers, grunting in effort, almost painfully as he tried to pull out on time. Sansa shut her eyes and tightened her legs around him, causing him to snap his head back and look at her with inquiring, alarmed eyes before his orgasm could overtake him. 

‘Inside me,’ she only instructed softly and Jon couldn’t help but finally let himself give in, thrusting twice before he grunted, spilling deep inside her, before he could collapse breathless and spent on her. Both his arms trembled as she held him with her entire body, his sweat mingling with hers in the heat of their bodies, his rapid heartbeat synchronising with hers as their fronts melted against each other, arms and legs tangled with each other, aching and trembling in raw exhaustion. 

They were alive, against all odds, through all the wars, they had both survived the world and as still Sansa felt Jon inside her, she closed her eyes and prayed to whatever God might be listening to her after so long, that new life would be created between them. Out of love lost and found, after all the struggle and the pain, she fought tears as she hoped her womb would quicken for Jon’s seed.

Sansa hoped -no matter the consequences- for the wolves to come again, even if they were to breathe fire this time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this!!!!! I needed these two idiots to accept each other, truly and deeply and wholly before we reach the North, because next chapter we do just that, guys!!!!!!   
> as for Kinvara.... she's something isn't she?  
> the smut was courtesy of my muse who decided to pee on my very well planned preview of the story and toss the dice in the air for these two....   
> thank you very much for reading, comments are love and inspiration!!!


	18. Jon IX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter has been written since Tuesday but it took so much editing and thanks to some comments that inspired me, it's here at 02:38 am. Enjoy...

_Chapter Eighteen - Jon IX_

__

_‘’Sometimes there is no happy choice, only one less grievous than the others.’’_

The day they crossed to the North, Jon saw the brightest smile on Sansa’s face. She had breathed in the crisp air of the cloudy day, leaving the South behind her, his realm of Seven Kingdoms, her sky blue eyes looking North ahead, joy flickering in their depths. She had looked radiant, like when she had been a little girl, happy and oblivious to the cruelties of the world.

Only now she wasn’t a girl, but a woman grown, a Queen in her own right and she was happy to return home. She beamed at him and he inclined his head, fighting the turmoil in his gut as they rode on, a tight smile across his own face as not to startle her. She was back in her home and that was evident in every single stop they made towards Moat Cailin, where the villagers and farmers approached with fresh fruit from the part of the prosperous Neck that belonged in the North, offering their harvest graciously for them.

For Sansa, their Queen.

Queen Sansa the Loved, the Red Wolf, the Queen of Spring, the Ice Queen.

He had heard the names people held for Sansa at their brief stop at Greywater Watch, received with enthusiasm and joy, welcoming her back. The attempt for her life had spread like fire and the North only rejoiced for her safe return, and for Jon saving her. They had bowed down to him as well, in his black and red colors, eyeing the red priestess with suspicion he knew so well it was rooted in the Northern hearts of the people. However, they had thanked him for saving from the Night, something they hadn’t gotten the chance to do as the time between the Battle for the Dawn and the Great War had been too brief because of Daenerys’ impatience to go for the Iron Throne and Jon’s despair to lull her away from Sansa. Yet, the joy of surviving had felt distant before the joy of Independence Sansa had brought them four years ago.

Jon could see not only joy but also relief for Sansa’s return, men of her family burnt and lost their heads in the South but Sansa ventured South times and times again and she always returned.

Jon couldn’t have been more proud as she accepted the fruit, as she kissed the foreheads of the children that approached them, looking at the royal procession with awe in their young eyes. He also couldn’t be more worried as she blessed babies in her arms and beamed at the people.

A few miles away, there was Moat Cailin, another seat of House Stark, ancient like the wolves of the North, a stronghold Sansa made for her Heir. She had been a royal guest in the South, when she could have been its Queen, if she had married Joffrey. She _would be_ its Queen; once their betrothal was announced, once Jon married Sansa. Now he was a royal guest in his old home, his people thanked and bowed at him, grateful for that old love they had felt for him when named him King in the North. But that love had been eclipsed by what he saw in their eyes when looking at Sansa, unconditional respect and adoration, settled feelings that existed for years, instead of that raw love they had felt for him for those short moons he had the Northern Crown.

He wondered, would those feelings change into disappointment, into anger and betrayal if she was to marry the dragon? If she were to have his children? Would they hate him all over again? Would they revolt against her, against Rickard?

He had threatened to burn the North, while in the South, but now as he moved further in the Kingsroad and saw the familiar lands he had grown up in, the lands he sacrificed everything for, Jon knew he wouldn’t be able to harm anyone, not when Sansa thrived among them and they with her. As every day passed, the dragon inside him roared and breathed fire, only now accompanied by the wolf within who howled and snarled in a battle he thought he had settled during that ritual in Volantis.

The wolf within knew better, the Northerners were loyal, they loved her, they accepted him in the past, a bastard, and then Rickard, another child half Southern, legitimised by a woman ruling, a woman twice married and scarred. The Northerners were called gruff and unyielding but through their loyalty and honour, they had accepted bastards, broken people and a Queen ruling them, they fought and died for the Starks and Sansa rewarded them with her love and their freedom.

So the questions in his mind changed, swifted to what _he_ had promised her.

How would they live together when in kingdoms apart? How would they share their lives, lives hard earned; when they were to be away from each other? Winterfell and the Northern Throne were Sansa’s seat -once his too- and the Throne of Light -as people spoke of it, due to Kinvara, he was sure- was his. Those thrones would always be away from each other, hundreds of miles apart. She would never return to King’s Landing, that much was certain, the Red Keep was a cage, her own wolfpit, he wouldn’t be able to rule from Winterfell, an independent Kingdom’s capital, so far from the South, no matter if he saw that capital as his own home, a home he hadn’t seen in so long. His people would revolt without their king and the Seven Kingdoms would turn into a warfield again.

Jon’s eyes watched Sansa as she kissed a babe’s head and handed it back to its mother during that final stop, Jon sighed at the sight. The parents of the babe informed Sansa they had named their daughter after the Queen who brought independence, their eyes darting at Jon in worry following their words. They weren’t the first one showing openly their love for Sansa in his presence. He only nodded his head, not minding their words before the fresh plunging thoughts of his.

Jon had promised Sansa he wouldn’t give her bastard children, and he had kept his promise every time he laid with her, always pulling away from her warmth, spilling away from home. Until at the Twins, where she held him against her, _inside_ her and he had been proven weak ever since, drowned in his raw passion, in the selfishness of his love for her. Every night they lay together in secret, every night he ended up gasping against her soft, scarred skin, breathless and spent within her body, and every night Sansa embraced him, lulled both to sleep filled with dreams of a son named Robb and a girl beautiful as summer. Until dawn broke and he had to abandon her for his own tent, pretending he had spent the night apart.

They were powerful, a King and a Queen, a dragon and a wolf, and they were playing the kingdoms in the fates. He had felt fury for his true father and mother, how they had jeopardised it all. He had reassured Sansa they wouldn’t be Lyanna and Rheagar all over again, she wouldn’t be married in secret, if whatever God blessed them with a babe, it wouldn’t be a child made in secret, it wouldn’t be a bastard.

It would be what a King and Queen were to have, a trueborn prince or princess, a fruit of love and honour, a child of marriage.

He had promised Sansa he would find a way, desperate not to lose her, desperate she would indeed jump off the Red Keep’s highest tower in her own despair. As they started for Moat Cailin once more, he wondered if he would be able to hold on that promise.

Balerion’s growl echoed in the distance, taking away some of Sansa’s smile before her gaze could land on Jon as she mounted her horse and approached him, offering the small basket of berries the couple had gifted her. He took some and tried them, bittersweet, like his thoughts.

‘I knew no ritual of fire and blood could take away your sulking.’ she jested and he couldn't help but smile back at her, her happiness seeping into his dark thoughts like sunlight through the cracks on a heavy roof.

‘I’m not sulking,’ he countered and Sansa’s smile widened, her eyes searching his. ‘Tell me about the North, what has changed.’ His attempt to hide the reasons for his mood was evident to Sansa, she understood. They couldn’t speak openly before the entire procession, with her Queensguard suffocatingly close to her since its failure to protect her at the Twins. The shadows of the night would do for their next conversation, although he felt he had nothing to say, only a million reasons to worry about.

‘Bear Island belongs to the Forresters now, they deserved their ascend…’ Sansa began, accepting the postponement of their talk. ‘Karhold belongs to House Cassel,’ Sansa added and Jon nodded, he was glad lesser houses had been rewarded for their loyalty and their fight against the Night, their victories felt like his own. People of the North survived to see another day because they had stood against the Night, that old feeling of guilt felt so distant before the justice he felt for his choices of gathering armies North, for placating the Dragon Queen to have them, even he had paid a price too high for them all. ‘The Last Hearth now belongs to House Harclay.’ Sansa went on and glanced at Jon who nodded again.

‘There have been new Houses too, all of them faithful to House Stark, every valuable abandoned or destroyed Keep became their home. I needed the North reborn and rebuilding was in many cases cheaper than starting from scratch.’ Sansa explained and Jon hummed in agreement. ‘The Dreadfort and Highpoint were the only Keeps I left to rot.’ Sansa’s tone changed, darkened. ‘The Army of the Dead did most of the job for me, by the time my council and I focused on what should be done with them, there had been only ruins.’ Sansa explained and Jon couldn’t help but smile this time in satisfaction.

Good, he knew she had promised that day, nothing of the Boltons would remain. ‘I ordered the people to take whatever was to be of use from the Keeps, stone, wood, metal, anything valuable for the rebuilding of other Keeps. And they did, stripped the places of anything of value.’ Sansa added and Jon could hear the shadows in her voice, she was a wolf, she didn’t just kill her enemies, she vanquished them. A dark hot feeling burnt inside him like charcoal, he wished he had been there to see the Dreadfort grounded.

‘Winterfell has been completely restored, we even rebuilt the Broken Tower, turned it into another storehouse for grain.’ Sansa explained and Jon nodded once again, always practical, she had been the Lady of Wintefell long before she became Queen, she had learnt what the castle could offer and what it lacked in space and utilities.

‘I also reformed some laws…’ Sansa added, this time cautiously, glancing at Jon. ‘While my reign was but a moon’s old and people were still drunk in happiness over their independence… I knew it was the perfect time for the old Lords to accept things they wouldn’t even discuss if their joy waned with time…’ Sansa was holding the reins of her horse as she glanced at Jon. ‘I changed the law for bastardy… Thankfully before Arya showed up with a massive belly…’ Sansa added and Jon could see the relief in her eyes, she had been playing her political game for years prior to her coronation. ‘No one could accuse me of doing it for her and Rickard…’ Sansa’s words were quieter, the jesting gone as she touched a sensitive subject. Jon wasn’t a bastard anymore, not for the people and not in his heart or mind, but he had been one almost all his life, he embraced his life but didn’t forget his past.

‘I had wanted to change things ever since you left for Dragonstone and the Lords had been swaying their loyalty to you.’ Sansa added and Jon felt a lump in his throat, at her own loyalty, her own compassion and commitment to him. ‘Every child born out of wedlock can be recognised by their mothers as much as their fathers. Every child born unwanted is welcome in my own Keep. I have created a small castle in the Wolfswood… Built by surviving illegitimate sons and daughters, accepting only children born out of wedlock, both girls and boys who couldn’t be recognised by anyone. They’re trained as soldiers to join my Queensguard and Winterfell's defence lines, as maesters for the various Keeps that need someone of use. No one is sent to the Wall anymore, at least not from the North. The Snow Castle is their home… and I am their mother in a sense and-’ Sansa paused as she looked at Jon who had remained intensely silent, listening to her. He felt the shuddering urge to reach out from his horse and kiss her, deeply, without a care in the world as the silhouette of Moat Cailin appeared on the cloudy horizon. How easier his life would have been, if he had been sent to Snow Castle from the beginning, if one of his parents had survived, if Ned Stark had told him the truth, if Catelyn Stark had known the truth at least.‘What?’ Sansa asked, his eyes obviously giving halt to her words.

 _‘I love you, for all that you do, for all that you are.’_ he kept the words, they were watched, with the corner of his eye he could see Kinvara who had been looking at the two of them.

‘You’re good at ruling,’ he replied before she could say a word more, she only smiled, her own words echoed for her now, the two of them knew the weight they beheld. He couldn’t help the bursting pride inside him, the feeling of her becoming what she was always meant to be, a great Queen. The rooted realisation that the North indeed belonged to her. He had been right to make the Riverlands his Seventh Kingdom, mending injustices of the distant past and Sansa’s recent division of the continent. For the North would never be separated from its Queen. They had knelt to a dragon a long time ago and they remembered Torrhen maybe like they would remember Jon. No dragon or other beast would be able to take their newly found freedom or their Queen from them, even if he was half wolf himself.

‘Thank you…’ Sansa smiled at him, truly, he knew what those words meant to her, for they had meant the same for him, back then, the acceptance, the faith in someone you love. They would mean as much to him now. He had promised a world of mercy, he had promised his own people justice, prosperity and peace, only now his people were not of the North. He had wanted it all, and he had taken the tricky South and the faith, the High Lords and the vipers wrapping around him, he had even taken the Queen in the North, for she belonged to him as he belonged to her, but the North… the North was a part of hers he couldn’t take away, wouldn’t take from her.

The sound of the bells reached them, echoing across the swamps that looked surprisingly drier and fertile as the Kingsroad led them straight to Moat Cailin’s castle, restored, colorful of people waiting and cheering. A massive direwolf banner covering one of the three towers of the fortress, signalling from miles away who rebuilt it and where it belonged.

‘Welcome to Moat Cailin, my King,’ Sansa smiled at him as they trotted to the house she built for the boy she considered her own. Jon admired the work only the mind of a woman would have planned. The towers had been restored and named, Sansa’s tower for the Queen of independence, Arya’s tower for the Nightslayer and mother of the heir to the North and Catelyn’s tower for the mother of them all. The towers stood strong in honour for the women of the North, overseeing the courtyard and the main Keep, there was a tiny Godswood built next to the castle, where the swamp had expanded once. She had ordered for some of the swamp to be dried for fields and a Godswood to be built, faith and food sometimes were the only things keeping people happy and Sansa had made sure to provide both for her nephew’s stronghold. The battlements made the fortress the powerful barrier between the South and the rest of the North. People bowed down to both as they entered the courtyard and Jon dismounted easily, reaching Sansa and helping her off her own horse. She had chosen the saddle instead of her wheelhouse ever since they crossed to the North, missing her home and wishing to enjoy every mile of it leading to Winterfell.

‘You did a fantastic job.’ Jon praised and Sansa smiled at him in thanks.

‘I hope Rickard will fill it with Starklings, I want him to have a happy life as King in the North.’ Sansa was honest, open with Jon and he loved her for it, her plans were his, Rickard would be one of his priorities too.

‘With a mother like you, I’m sure he’ll be joyous, all of your children will be.’ Jon’s words were quiet, only for Sansa to hear, her lips parted but no sound escaped as their gazes locked, shutting the rest of the world around them.

The hope was there, along the uncertainty and the worry, the fear and the love.

‘He has a mother, Arya will come back to her boy one day, when she’s ready.’ Sansa finally replied, keeping the rest of the things unsaid between them. There was no reason to speak of them, they were right there in their eyes. For the first time, they remained silent not because they hid things from each other but because they were in complete harmony in their feelings.

The feast that evening was plain but Sansa had done her best for a guest of utmost importance. For the first time, she was the hostess and he was welcomed back in the North, people of Houses around the fortress were attending, soon they would be joining them for Cerwyd Castle and from there to Winterfell for the Tournament Sansa had commanded to be readied in the capital for their return. Jon could see what she was doing, his return would be remembered as a joyous event, the man who saved them all, the man who opened the way for her to liberate the North, the man who was coming as a friend and not as another conqueror.

The North Remembers but Sansa would make sure they remembered the good parts, the parts that would bring only joy in hers and Jon’s union. She was smart and he had learnt, he could see into her ways by now, had been taught, people loved her and they would love her choices too for she had chosen Jon and if he was smart enough to let them have some room, to let them be his through her, they would make it. Her ways, the prospect of them gave him hope, joy.

Joy shadowed by the scroll waiting for him to read after the feast as he entered his chambers. They had chosen they would not risk exposure while in Moat Cailin. Balerion had been uneasy ever since reaching the first Northern stops and Jon wished to go and accompany him that night. But only after responding to the raven sent by his Hand.

_My Liege…. The Council is concerned about your journey North….. your injury at the Twins caused us great unsettle… the House there should hold power to keep the Neck along the Tullies… the Tullies cannot have all the power in such a prosperous part of your county…. The attack could have been staged by the Northerners…. we are inspecting the incident from the capital…. Word has it the news of your return have reached Naath, so far everyone is idle there. I beseech you, do not let your affection for your cousin to cloud you judgment for the North… I pray to the one true God to keep you blessed and safe._

Manfrey Martell’s words remained before Jon’s eyes as he skimmed through the letter, again and again, reading between the lines. He was inquiring on what happened at the Twins. He was questioning the rift between House Stark and Frey, implying with laced courtesy the possibility of all this being staged by the North to have reason to oppose Jon's claim on it. Jon hadn’t made public his desire not to lay claim on the North, not directly, there would be no use for it. It was evident where they belonged and it was obvious he had a challenge before him once reaching the Lords at castle Cerwyd and then Winterfell. Manfrey was getting powerful and drunk in his position but he had no idea how the people acted around the King of the Seven Kingdoms and the Queen in the North on their way across the countries. He wouldn’t claim the North, causing the war he wished to avoid just to favour Manfrey Martell. The people were more important and although Jon wished to have it all, he would make it in different ways.

He wrote quickly, not minding the spilled ink on the sheet as he openly commanded for temperance and obedience, reminding Martell who ruled over the lands and who faced the people across the kingdoms.

Jon Snow would have tried to placate the man, keep balances but Aegon Targaryen could see another thorn in his side growing bigger and sharper with every moon turn. Like with Kinvara, Jon had taken some necessary evils around him for the start of his reign. Soon, they would have to be uprooted, ripped root and stem before they took too much power and strangled him in his sleep, or worse, harm Sansa for all that she was and he couldn’t be any more.

He opened the cage with the raven, tied the scroll and let it go from the window of his chambers in Sansa’s Tower, looking at the black bird flying in the night. His eyes followed where his instinct instructed him to look, Balerion had settled across the swamp, waiting for his rider. Jon sighed, knowing he had to go to the beast bound to him.

A knock on the door caused him to turn around as Sansa entered the chambers, fully dressed and bone tired but smiling as she looked at him. The crease between his brows eased, so did his heavy heart at her sight. She approached him slowly, stepping into his arms easily, sighing as she nestled theore, fitting her cheek against his shoulder.

‘I came to help you with the bandages,’ Sansa’s words were soft lies, causing Jon to smile and kiss the top of her head as she looked at him. The stab wound had almost healed, yet a scar would remind them forever what almost happened, Jon didn’t care, like Sansa herself, they carried those scars like badges of survival.

‘How sweet of my Queen,’ Jon mused as Sansa looked at him with a smile on her face, he leaned in stealing a kiss from her lips. ‘Your joy is contagious, you know that?’ he wondered, cupping her cheek gently, Sansa this time chuckled but in truth pulled a fresh bandage from her bosom, where the vial was also hidden. ‘What is that?’ Jon asked, wishing to ask ever since their start of the journey. Sansa glanced at the vial and shook her head dismissively.

‘Protection,’ Sansa replied as she started untying the woollen fabric that was turning weathered around his arm. Jon paused her hand with his own over his injured arm.

‘Moon tea?’ he asked the first thing that came to mind. Despite the worry over Sansa getting with child, the idea of preventing the fruit of their love from taking root left an odd, stinging pain deep inside him. Sansa looked into Jon’s eyes for a long moment before she could lean in and steal a kiss this time.

‘I said protection, not precaution.’ Sansa pointed out softly and Jon exhaled in a mixture of relief and agony. ‘Do not worry about it, consider it a gift for the darkest of days.’ she replied enigmatically and Jon wished not to push further. ‘Kinvara has behaved since we crossed in the North…’ Sansa added causally, glancing up at him as she untied the bandage and let it fall on a nearby table before she could inspect the closing wound.

‘She better continue. Manfrey has been insufferable.’ Jon replied angrily, this time Sansa reached for his cheek with her soft palm, he leaned in, closing his eyes and turning to kiss the soft skin there.

‘You landed on a dragon and made him your Hand… proclaiming your wish to take everything for your own. Maybe he’s only trying to grant you exactly that.’ Sansa’s words were wise but didn’t help into stopping Jon from feeling betrayal brewing in King’s Landing. ‘My councilors had been insufferable over the years, they were open in their concerns, once or twice they even opposed my ideas. But I learnt to listen, I even acknowledged they were right after I learnt a couple of lessons the hard way as a Queen.’ Sansa went on, smoothing his aggression, at least for the night. She had been a Queen for some years already, he could take the advice on being softer with allies that spoke their minds. He remembered that day in Winterfell where he had taken her own words as undermining when all she had been trying to do was make him a just king. ‘But even if he’s trying to do something behind your back… Davos is there and you need to be smarter than just feed the Prince of Dorne to Balerion.’ Sansa added this time pointedly, looking deep into his dark eyes with her bright ones. He couldn’t help but finally chuckle at her words, she knew him too well, even if he had changed drastically, she could see through him.

‘Alright… I will be smarter… by listening to you.’ Jon added and Sansa smiled as she started binding the bandage around his arm, carefully but firmly to keep the wound clean and secure. Her eyes were glued on her work and Jon could see her mind drifting away.

‘How was it? How did it feel like?’ he instantly knew what Sansa meant as she raised her eyes to bore into his. She hadn’t asked once they had reunited, both still shocked and pained by their wounds, their abuse and hardship. But now it was all back in the past, the blood had stopped running, they were stronger, transformed through it all.

‘You know how a blade feels inside the flesh.’ he spoke softly, as softly as ever. He could tell from some of her scars, Ramsay had known where to stab to cause agony but not death. She had known pain herself, she nodded her head. ‘So... the blades burnt, stung…’ he added, never taking his eyes from hers. He wouldn’t be able to speak more if he looked at anything but the blue of her eyes. ‘But the cold following, the numbness as you can’t move because most of the blood has left the body… the heart struggling to pump at nothing... ‘ his voice quivered and Sansa broke the spell by nodding with her own tearful eyes, hugging him tightly.

‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.’ Sansa begged him for forgiveness but Jon wrapped his arms around her tightly and breathed in her familiar scent, lavender, mint and a sweetness that was only her.

‘Someone had to…’ he replied. Melisandre had asked what he had seen where he went and he had lied. Daenerys had seen the scars but had kept silent too. Davos and his brothers of the Watch had urged him to live but no one had asked about it with an interest on how it is to be going, and coming back. ‘Wherever I went after that…’ Jon added, closing his eyes. ‘I saw red and black, grey and white. I saw ice and fire…’ Jon added, revealing for the first time what he had truly witnessed, ‘And then I was gasping for breath, cold, in pain, unable to speak or think for awhile. I felt crippled, cold, and I knew, there had to be purpose for my return, there had to be a reason.’ Jon whispered the final part and pulled Sansa closer so he could look at her, cupping her face gently with both hands. ‘And then you came to me…’ Jon’s voice was but a whisper, their lips almost touching. ‘I thought I was ice and you were fire when I saw you again, smiling and content and warm like now.’ he whispered caressing her soft hair as she looked at him in silence. ‘But now I realise I was the fire of the South and you were the ice of the North…’ Jon’s words had Sansa kissing him passionately, holding him to her as she grasped at her lithe body. They kissed and kissed, familiar, warm and confident after all those weeks on the road. They were each other’s, it was the simple truth, had been each other’s for a long time before Jon returned to Westeros, in the North, in life.

‘I only want us to be happy,’ Sansa’s voice sounded desperate in his ears when they broke their kiss. He nodded against her forehead, stealing a kiss at the corner of her mouth.

‘We will, no matter what, we will.’ he reassured Sansa and himself, she watched him for a few long moments in silence before she could nod her head, he couldn’t read her all the time but his own struggled was mirrored in her eyes at that moment, a thousand thoughts and worries along her feelings for him flickering into her gaze.

‘We will, together,’ She finally affirmed and he smiled and nodded. He wanted her with him, now and forever.

‘I was planning to go and see Balerion for awhile, he’s growing uneasy away from me and the North is not suitable for dragons.’ Jon’s words were calm but Sansa frowned in worry. He shook his head. ‘He would never go out of control, yet I have to be close to him. He’s been fed but he needs company.’ Jon added to ease her fears and Sansa remained silent for a moment before she could glance outside the window.

‘Can I come with you?’ her words surprised him to say the least as he remained stunned before her. He could see her attempt at embracing him for all that he was, as he had requested back at the Twins, and that meant she would have to accept his dragon like he accepted her established rule in the North. They had to find ways of compromise to reach each other. ‘Or is it dangerous?’ she added, withdrawing her own proposal, this time her voice lower, sensibly scared of her own suggestion. Jon shook his head, keeping his arms wrapped around her warm body.

‘No, it wouldn’t be dangerous if I’m there. But… you don’t have to do it. I know you don’t like him and although he won’t-’

‘I told you I accept you, wholly, everything you are. I was the one I accepted you first, Bran knew, so did Sam but I was the one who upon your identity… Even if it hurt you… even if I hurt you, I accepted you as a Targaryen… as a dragon.’ Sansa’s words were honest, violently so, Jon nodded at her courage. ‘And since I took Ghost…’ there was the slightest humour in her voice. ‘Or actually Ghost came to me… it would be only fair to tread close to your beast… your dragon… if we are to spend our lives together.’ Sansa’s words warmed him to the core. Together, for life, no matter where, on what terms they would be together and mythical creatures were parts of their life. Their children would be both dragon and wolf, the mother of the dragonwolves should be able to stand close to Balerion.

‘Come with me, my love,’ Jon finally beckoned her as they reached for the door of the chambers. The fortress was silent and when Sansa’s Queensguard members tried to follow, Sansa sent them off, reassuring them Jon would be enough protection, had been proven such, time and time again.

They rode together through the dried parts of the swamp on the same horse. The taste of freedom and power were sweet and very similar, only obligation and duty causing bitterness. The couple rode on with Sansa before Jon on his stallion as they crossed the swamp in the middle of the night, the full moon's pale light showing the way.

The air was humid and cold, wet earth and vegetation mingled with scent of smoke as they approached the dragon who had found a resting spot on a piece of dry land. It raised its long neck, watching the couple approaching with calm but watchful eyes as Jon dismounted and helped Sansa off the horse that shuddered and moved nervously until Sansa patted the stallion to ease its fear before she could look at Jon who waited with his hand outstretched, her eyes darted at the beast who waited on the ground, watching them.

‘Jon…’ Sansa was suddenly unsure and he couldn’t blame her. Maybe she had noticed Balerion had grown larger than what he had been before the ritual in Volantis while he was Drogon. ‘I resented his mother, maybe he knows that.’ Sansa spoke the words in uncertainty, for the first time showing fear over her dislike of Daenerys. Jon smiled and nodded as her eyes climbed up to meet the dragon’s.

‘Of course he does,’ Jon reassured Sansa whose eyes widened in fear, she was clearly regretting her decision. ‘He also knows what Daenerys made him do…He knows how foolishly she lost his brothers… He knows how she paraded him and his brothers like possessions to be the image of terror…’ Jon reassured her of things he had seen with his own eyes and in the flames of that ritual in Essos, where man and dragon had became one. ‘Children that had been chained and caged when she couldn’t control them. He knows who I am and how I treat him and he knows how much you love me…’ Jon added with a smile he was sure didn’t fit his Northern features but matched his dragon blood. ‘So, move forward Sansa Stark, for you have nothing to be afraid of.’ Jon’s words were spoken in confidence and even though Sansa was still unsure and worried, she made the steps towards him and his dragon. They were constantly testing each other, provoking and challenging, throwing foundation for what was to be a relationship that would unite the kingdoms and would stay until their final breaths.

Her hand in his was warm, clutching at him, he had expected her grasp to tremble but it’s firm once held by him and Jon smiled at her as they approached the dragon together. Balerion growled but delved its massive, black head, the pupil of his eye is the same color with Sansa’s hair, Jon realised as he reached for the dragon’s upper lip with his free hand, like he had done when he first met him in Dragonstone.

‘Kesīr iksi…’ his voice was reassuring as Balerion reached for them, Jon looked at Sansa who remained idle before the slightly open mouth of the dragon, mesmerised at the proximity, she wasn’t paralysed in fear like others but truly conscious of her next moves. ‘Issa daor qrinuntys, issa ñuha jorrāelagon.’ Jon’s voice was calm and confident.

‘What are you telling him?’ Sansa asked in a small voice as she watched the dragon’s every move, the beast remained unmoving, sniffing the air between the humans, learning Sansa. Jon smiled at her, kissing her palm as she reached closer by his gentle tug.

‘I ordered him to eat you if you ever cheat on me.’ his voice was jesting and he knew if she wasn’t in the company of his dragon, she would probably slap him but she remained calm, reducing her reaction to a glare as she focused on the dragon once again. ‘I told him you’re no enemy, that you’re my love…’ Jon finally admitted and Sansa smiled at him despite her worry. Jon watched as she gulped down, her spine straightened as she reached for the dragon. Her body half facing him and half facing the dragon as she outstretched her own hand, this time it trembled, her direwolf ring catching the moonlight upon its metal.

Sansa’s gasp was sharp when she touched the scales, radiating heat, hard but moving, _alive,_ smooth...like the stones under Winterfell’s hot springs. ‘He’s…’ Sansa was at a loss of words, a rare sight in itself, Jon thought as she kept her hand upon the dragon’s skin. Balerion remained still, knowing his slightest move would cause her fear. Jon had been certain, even though Sansa once resented the dragon and its mother, after the ritual, Balerion had also found his purpose, atoned for following the wrong orders when as he was a creature of great intelligence and intuition. Sansa would see that and soon she would realise he was essential for Jon’s rule across the land.

‘He will allow it...if you want to ride on him.’ Jon added for her and her eyes darted at him, this time wide and fearful.

‘Forget it,’ she commanded as she withdrew her hand and Jon chuckled and kissed her cheek.

‘I was only joking…’ Jon retreated with a grin, Sansa couldn’t help but slap his chest this time, Balerion didn’t protest at the beating of his companion, only lowered his head completely and watched them with sleepy eyes as he snuggled back on the ground.

‘Your humour needs improvement.’ Sansa exhaled sharply but she was smiling, he could see she was proud of herself for touching a dragon and not dying. He couldn’t help but smile wider as he planted another kiss on her lips before he reached for Balerion on his own. The dragon remained silent and idle as Jon reached him and patted his snout.

‘Emā issare sȳz se gīda, iksan isse hoskagon syt ao. Jelmor iksis zȳhon se nyke jorrāelagon ao naejot gaomagon qrīdrughagon hen zirȳla rūs.’ Balerion wouldn’t reach Winterfell, it wouldn’t awaken fear in the people’s hearts, his shadow wouldn’t fall upon Rickard because Jon knew, Sansa was not ready for the dragon to reach so close to her home. He couldn’t blame her but he wouldn’t forsake his dragon. His companionship with Balerion would be like his relationship with Sansa, one of freedom and equality.

The dragon growled softly, acknowledging the words, glancing at Sansa one last time before looking at Jon and closing his eyes, needing rest for the night. Jon stepped away himself after making sure the dragon armour forged in Essos wasn’t biting into the beast’s skin. He finally returned to Sansa and together, they rode back to Moat Cailin.

Castle Cerwyd would be their next stop and Jon wondered, as he helped Sansa off her horse and inside the fortress, if the Northern Lords there would be as accepting of the Queen and King as the two monarchs were of each other. And if Jon would be able to keep himself in control before his next host, Sansa’s old lover, Cley Cerwyd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not many things happened but some significant ones... Moat Cailin is a place where Sansa made a home for her nephew (and I couldn't help but name the towers for the women of the Stark family) and I wanted to focus mostly on Jon's conflict over what lies ahead instead of the fortress itself but we got a taste of it. Also, I wanted Sansa to put to practice what she said about accepting Jon wholly and that's why I needed her to near Balerion, and sorry I couldn't help Jon teasing Sansa because these two can be happy and cute and *adele's rolling in the deep plays in the background*... baby steps towards each other as they get to delve deeper, like their talk about death, like Sansa returning to her people and Jon worrying over everything, I love exploring him, I love being into his head because I believe he truly is a smart character (no matter what was done to him in the final 2 seasons)  
> thank you very much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it!!! Can't wait for your comments and opinion on it all!!!!!


	19. Sansa X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's 6:00am  
> @_@ please excuse any errors :)

_Chapter Nineteen - Sansa X_

__

_‘The more people you love the weaker you are.’_

‘Jon... ‘ his name fell like a prayer from Sansa’s parted lips, gasping through the sound, their bodies moving in unison.

Jon’s bandaged arm pillowing her head, hand kneading on her breast as Sansa reached behind to his dishevelled curls, tugging none too gently as he kept thrusting inside her. His forehead on her shoulder, his hot breath raising goosebumps upon her sweaty skin, his free hand holding her to him, skillful fingers on her nub of nerves, flicking and rubbing until she peaked, unable to resist the tight coil deep inside her.

‘Yes, Sansa, yes love, come on... for me,’ Jon’s gruff voice was a whisper in her ear as she met him thrust for thrust, convulsing around him, her lithe body writhed and arched in his arms. Jon kept her close to him, relentlessly caressing her while his other hand left Sansa’s breast for her lips, where she bit down to suppress her moans, Jon thrust twice more before he could peak as well, spilling deep inside her with a strangled groan.

The Queen’s tent fell in silence and darkness, the two lovers breathing heavily, still spooned with each other as Sansa reached for the furs before she could return to the cuddle of his arm. His other hand rested on Sansa’s middle, she took his hand to her breast, where he kneaded softly with fingers still wet. He planted a breathless kiss on the back of her neck, even there, there was a tiny scar, his lips made her shiver, her body still too sensitive in her bliss.

‘I’m exhausted,’ Sansa whispered in the darkness, her eyes shutting as she took a deep breath. This would be the last night in a tent, the next day they would be reaching House Cerwyn and she would be laying on a bed at last, a few days afterwards, they would be reaching home, Wintrefell.

‘I know…’ Jon whispered and Sansa sighed, wondering how much he actually did know. She knew he understood her struggle, her anticipation, she understood his own conflict through their journey North, they had spoken about it, they were communicating and that was something she cherished. Sansa only wished they wouldn’t make steps back, she only wished she’d be able to keep being open about everything with Jon as they had promised each other. ‘You’re pale…’ Jon’s voice was coated with concern, she smiled sadly, he had noticed then. Ever since Moat Cailin, she had caught him watching her with a crease between his brows but she had taken it for his own concerns and turmoils.

A few moons ago, she was ice, ruling over her home, the only man who mattered to her was the sweet boy that lived in her old chambers at Winterfell. All that was tossed in the winds when a dragon landed in King’s Landing, same beast that levelled the city was back with another rider, the rightful Heir to a throne that was no more, and the man her heart belonged to. Since those moons back, she had turned to steel, then to ivory and as she allowed him inside her, coupling with him like every woman in love would have, to porcelain once again.

‘I’m always pale…’ she whispered back, denying and defying him, herself, she wasn’t sure who. She wasn’t sure of many things as of recently. The only thing she was certain of was that she needed Maester Wolkan who kept secrets and did everything he could to help her. He had provided moontea while she was Lady Bolton… sparing her a fate worse than death. He had taken care of her nightmares while they lasted in the first two years of her reign. If she had summoned him to Castle Cerwyn she would have raised questions over her health and she didn’t need the attention while she journeyed with Jon across the South and North. She had to wait, to endure a little more. There had been periods before when she hadn’t bled for entire moon turns, like now.

They were playing with luck and they would probably lose, Sansa knew, but she couldn’t stop, every time they laid together, she couldn’t help but want him inside her until the very end. When they were on their horses, Sansa couldn’t help but imagine the two of them married and happy. She couldn’t help but hope for the kingdoms to accept them, for the distances to minimize between them, she couldn’t help but imagine a future for the two of them, a family. No matter the obstacles ahead, the enemies and traitors, Sansa felt like that young stupid girl was emerging from the shadows of the past, never learning, making her not just the slow learner she was, but a fool altogether.

‘Sansa?’ Jon asked after a few moments of silence. She hummed in response, eyes heavy but mind racing. ‘Is Cerwyn… is he still-’ her eyes opened in the darkness at his failed attempt to express himself and change the subject she avoided anyway. She smirked at the effort, enjoyed it even.

‘Is he a threat to you?’ she asked for him, she encountered the silence she knew he was brewing along the anticipation. ‘From my side, no, it’s been years since we stopped… and we were not really _together_ , he had to be at Castle Cerwyn, I had to be in Winterfell, we had to keep it a secret for our reputation… And I had to rebuild the North and Arya arrived and lets say my duties as a surrogate mother ended any carnal desire as I focused there entirely. ’ Sansa added and felt Jon sighing against her shoulder, nodding. He was jealous, of course he was, like with Gendry, like with the letter from Cley.

‘Is he still in love with me?’ Sansa asked for him and Jon sighed but hummed in response. ‘I have no idea, I’m Sansa Stark not Cley Cerwyn…’ she replied in a challenge she regretted as his free hand brushed against her ribs, causing her to laugh, the kiss on her shoulder turned into a light bite. ‘You are a jealous man, Aegon Targaryen…’ Sansa observed when they calmed and the bite turned into a nibble.

‘I am… was he better than me?’ Sansa rolled her eyes at how typical he was.

‘Way better,’ she replied in a jest and this time Jon tickled her more, causing her to attempt to squirm away, Jon held her to him.

‘Liar,’ Jon accused darkly, Sansa smiled.

‘Jealous and vile… insulting me as dishonest… you are ready to attack our next host… awful!’ Sansa teased and Jon growled his acceptance.

‘I am, I am a hotheaded dragon, a vile man who yields only to his passion for the woman he loves…’ Jon confessed darkly in her ear and Sansa only hummed her own acknowledgement. He would behave the next day, he had to, if they wanted to have a chance to be both welcome back in the North. Sansa would have turned and bit on his own skin in response, if she wasn’t so tired.

Her body was as tired as her mind, as troubled too, her stomach sensitive at dusk and dawn, the weeks on the journey taking their toll as she felt more tired every day. She wanted nothing else but to reach her home, to lay on her bed and have Jon with her, like that very night, her lover, her cousin, her husband.

‘Relax, love, sleep...’ Jon’s words were soft, another kiss planted on her bare shoulder, his hand stopped kneading her breast and massaged her ribs this time, her body relaxing from the stiffness her thoughts had caused. ‘I will find a way,’ he echoed the words once again, like he had done in King’s Landing, like he had repeated after their first time. She sighed, wishing once again he was right, willing herself to believe him.

She could see the storm coming, the clouds hung heavy over Castle Cerwyn, dark grey and black, ready to pour down all they had. Another storm was brewing next to her as she and Jon moved up the stairs, his dark eyes tearing holes at the Lord waiting for them at the top.

The entire courtyard had bent down for the Queen in the North and the King of the Seven Kingdoms, dutiful and welcoming, watching the young couple of cousins, the rulers of Westeros reaching the first of the Great House Lords of the North.

Cley Cerwyn had changed from what Sansa remembered him last, his beard was longer, his hair too. She wouldn’t have smiled at him, if the wolf inside had remained idle. Apart from a past lover, Cley had been a good friend and ally, an honest counsellor and a bannerman who would indeed die for her. Jon didn’t miss the smile she addressed to their host and for a split moment, Sansa wondered what drove her to torment her love with the weapons she had in her arsenal.

Same weapons he had used in the past, even if he had known his feelings for her, even if he could see hers as she had left them in plain sight for him.

Passion, jealousy, need.

They were playing with luck indeed, they were young and fierce, they were winners of a game they had been thrown in.

‘Queen Sansa,’ Cley’s voice was deep as she remembered it, adoring. The Lord smiled back, bowing to her. ‘King Aegon,’ he added, his bow swallow, yet his eyes had moved to Jon in respect, storm met storm.

_...within the Dragon’s claws...._

_....the Targaryen’s return…_

Jon had bellowed over Cley’s letter to her, its words still in her mind. Sansa knew Cley wasn’t only personally devoted to Sansa, he was also worried over Jon. He had pledged to him, after Lyanna Mormount had urged him but he hadn’t helped in the Battle of the Bastards and he had been hesitant to declare Jon King in the the North until the last moment.

Later, after Ghost had reached Winterfell, sending Sansa to grief over what she assumed was Jon’s fate to be, Cley had felt he had the courage to tell her. He had admitted his right to distrust Jon for kneeling to the Dragon Queen. Back then, Sansa had retorted they were alive because of Jon, even if the pain was suffocating, now that she knew the true reason, she wondered how she would make Cley see without alienating him from the Northern Crown.

‘Lord Cerwyn,’ finally both Sansa and Jon greeted the man, their eyes meeting for a split moment. She could see the jealousy there, the firestorm.

‘Castle Cerwyn is only proud and happy to have you back, Your Majesty,’ Cley was good with words, addressing Sansa with warmth that felt both familiar and awkward. There had been two years since they put an end to their affair, an affair that helped her cope when there was no one else around, an affair that ended with a promise of loyalty and friendship for the rest of their years. On their last time together, Cley had vowed to always be there, for her, for Rickard and House Stark and she had promised she would become personally connected with House Cley by facilitating his marriage _“to the most beautiful bride the North would bring for him”_ , when the right person would show up. Cley had laughed, jesting about that bride having the Northern Crown upon her head… She still remembered the sadness that flickered over his face, along the feelings she hadn’t been able to return.

Feelings Sansa had thought she had felt for Joffrey, when she was young and naive. Feelings that had burnt inside her like wildfire from the moment Jon had paraded inside their home along the Dragon Queen. Feelings Sansa had smothered that day on the docks of King’s Landing. Feelings she had mourned over once Ghost crossed the courtyard and reached her, staying with her like he had done while Jon was in Dragonstone

‘King Aegon, welcome back to the North.’ The intention was clear, as the words, he was friendly, Cley wouldn’t cause a war with the dragon, yet Jon wasn’t Cley’s King or Liege, only the King of a foreign land.

‘Thank you, my Lord,’ Jon only replied, lips a tight line. Sansa sighed as Cley nodded to himself and after glancing at her once again, made space for them to enter his Keep under his hospitality.

The routine was the same for the North as was for the South. First they would rest, then she would meet with Lord Cerwyn in case of matters that had been raised in Sansa’s absence and then the feast would take place in their honour with bread and salt at the start as it was custom for the welcomed guests. She had never prepared such an occasion for Daenerys Targaryen back in Winterfell, a foreigner she was and she hadn’t even noticed the neglected custom, not knowing about it and Jon hadn’t ordered it either. Sansa sighed as she wondered how many details she had missed, how many signs there had been and she hadn’t seen in her turmoil.

She laid on the bed of her chambers, waiting for her bath to be readied, her eyes drifting close only for a moment.

She didn’t realise when she fell asleep still with her riding dress on but she was aware of the dizziness that followed her abrupt awakening from one of the maids of the castle who begged for her forgiveness again and again. Sansa dismissed the girl’s worry, she struggled to dismiss the unsteadiness too as she changed to the dress for the feast, taking the small vial to her bosom, the opportunity for the bath forgotten as she circled her long braid at the base of her neck and pinned it in place before she could wear her crown and exit the chambers. She knew the castle and where the councils were taking place, Cley would have been waiting there.

She was surprised to find guards of House Cerwyn and House Targaryen outside the door, glaring at each other until they noticed the Queen with her own Guard, making way instantly for her to get in the room. She paused the man who was ready to announce her, slipping inside the chambers silently.

Sansa entered the hall that led to the main chamber, a wise advice she had given Cley for his Keep. Anyone in the corridor could eavesdrop, just like Sansa did in the Hall as she heard the Lord’s voice along Jon’s in the room ahead of her.

‘King Aegon, you wished to have a word with me...’ Cley’s voice was gruff, almost annoyed under the masked courtesy. Northmen were never good at hiding their feelings. Sansa remained silent as she waited for Jon to speak, wondering why he would have called for Cley to speak with him before her own audience with him. For a moment, worry sparked inside her at the idea of Jon trying to threaten Cley over his past with her. She had seen the darkness that could overtake him, the jealousy of hers had been a wildfire, yet Jon’s jealousy could end up becoming a volcano…

‘I did, my Lord.’ Jon’s voice was as gruff, sounding calm however, for a moment Sansa pictured him in his old furs in her mind, the ones she had sewed for him, with the Stark emblem on, instead of the dark fur he wore ever since they reached Moat Cailin, above the black and red of his clothes and armor. ‘I wanted to have a word about Queen Sansa.’ Jon added and Sansa held her breath, her heartbeat audible in her own ears. Cley remained silent and Sansa wished with all her power not to hear a threat or a hostile declaration from Jon. Everything she had been building with him could go to ruin if he let himself free to speak of his emotions and impulses.

‘I’m listening, your Majesty,’ Cley urged on and Sansa bit her lower lip, almost seeing every attempt for peace they made in the South collapsing.

‘I wanted to reassure you, like I will reassure the rest of the Northern Lords at Winterfell, on my honour and my word, that I am not in the North to undermine your Queen or snatch her Kingdom and its independence from her hands.’ Jon’s words had Sansa exhale almost audibly, she made half a step away from the semi closed door, hiding in the shadows as she breathed in her relief.

‘Your honour as a Northman or as a Dragon King, your Majesty?’ Cley challenged openly and Sansa shut her eyes. She had expected the Northmen would have been blunt about the change of name, House and life of Jon Snow to Aegon Targaryen. She had only hoped her ex lover wouldn’t have been the first to do so, fueling a fire he wouldn’t be able to extinguish if Jon wished it lit. The silence dragged between the men in the room before her and Sansa wondered if she should make a noise and break the moment or sit back and wait, allow Jon to take over and face the men he wished and travelled so far and wide to encounter.

‘As both,’ Jon finally replied,Sansa could hear his voice deepening. ‘My parents got married in secret, giving me a name and a title, but my father disgraced House Martell and my mother ran away, compelling men to act on their honour…’ Sansa sealed her lips, breathing through her nose as she heard him speak of his parents for the first time.

 _A Targaryen father and a Stark Mother._ Tyrion’s words echoed in her mind from back in King’s Landing.

‘So much blood had been spilt because of their union. But their union brought me and as a Targaryen, I have sworn already to take care of the Seven Kingdoms, so they can prosper and be in peace, to right all the wrongs, to mend all the wounds of the past years, of the wars all Great Houses caused…’ Sansa knew Jon included the Northern Cause and Robb in it, he was being smarter, therefore able to see the wrong things her eldest brother had done. ‘As a Stark, I have vowed to your Queen I will be loyal to her, support her in any way I can. A strong South can only ensure a safe North and vice versa. I won’t go into conquering a land where no one wishes to have me as their King… You would bring Sansa back the moment I turned to look away and I would never harm her… so it’s a losing war for me, a war unfair since I have no claim to it anymore’ Jon’s words had Sansa smile despite the tension she felt radiating from the room before her, ‘and so much affection for her…’ his added words her her heart kicking into overdrive. He was openly admitting to Cley, of all people, he was using the affection Jon had seen still in Cley, in the letter and in his eyes during their welcome. Jon was playing his cards, trying to get the man before him to sympathise and be on his, _their_ side instead of getting Cley to antagonise him in a battle that was lost anyway.

Jon was still on the game, he was being smarter, he was coming bare to the honest and he was being cryptic with the dishonest around him. Sansa couldn’t help but wait with her hand over her heart for Cley’s response.

‘Your affection…’ Cley’s words were soft, changed, Sansa knew he was opening up as he trailed off.

‘My affection for Sansa led me to placate the Dragon Queen… It led me to a dangerous game that I eventually lost but I did it all for the North and for Sansa…’ Jon’s words were as soft, as honest. ‘I learnt awful things next to Daenerys Targaryen, I put my morality to the side when she burnt people at the Reach... I gritted my teeth when she snarled threats for Sansa while in Winterfell… and I mourned the man I had become when I ended up in exile for doing what was right at the end…’as Sansa heard Jon’s voice becoming quieter, shrouded with sadness over the past, she couldn’t help but fight the sting of tears in her eyes. ‘I knew I would fall if Danaerys did and she fell from the sky like a comet, inside a city full of children….’ he added before silence could engulf the room he and Cley remained inside. ‘I did my best for the battle against the Night… I couldn’t help everyone in the South however and that will be a burden I will carry for the rest of my days…’ Jon’s added words had Sansa letting the tears finally fall.

‘This is what I am trying to restore, and Sansa had been doing so since she was crowned Queen… I can only stand by her side while we do it together…’ Jon finally added, leaving no doubt over what kind of affection he was talking about. Sansa shut her eyes, hoping this wouldn’t backfire. They would have to open up eventually, people in the South had already seen how the Dragon King protected and smiled next to the Wolf Queen. Now it was time for the North.

‘It is impossible not to love Sansa.’ Cley’s words were bold, yet calm and soft. ‘For her kindness, for her beauty, her mind and spirit…’ he added and Sansa smiled tearfully, taking away the tears with the back of her hand, hating how quickly her emotions lurched inside her. ‘I’m young and…’

‘I know about your past with her, she told me,’ Jon was heard and another stretch of silence followed. Sansa admired Jon for remaining calm, for not giving in to his jealousy. She was his and he was hers, there was no need for more struggle.

‘Then I must be honest with you I will always hold a soft spot for her. Even though I’m going to ask Sansa to keep her word to me and facilitate my wedding to Lyrra Forrester in a few moon turns, I will always stand by my Queen’s side. And if my Queen has chosen you, then she knows better for she has seen things when no one of us could…’ Cley’s words had Sansa’s eyes widening. His support was given, along his heart to another finally. ‘And the years might have passed for the smallfolk but we, the Lords of the North still remember you saved us from the Night… After we faced them, after we followed you in King’s Landing… after you stopped us from committing crimes a city that was already sacked and fallen from the dragon… after we found Sansa when you were taken down by the Dragon Queen’s shoulders… we still remembered that we wouldn’t have seen the light of dawn without you… If this is any consolation to you, over what you did…’ Cley added and Sansa wasn’t surprised at the silence that followed. She had meant her words that day at the docks, they had lost their king, only she had taken over and did as good as he.

‘It is, Lord Cerwyn.’ Sansa heard Jon finally admitting, his voice gruff, heavy with emotion.

‘But I must warn you, I’m young, in love… I understand you and I know Sansa a little more than Lord Glover or Manderly… But they have sons and grandsons and nephews that they would love to see some of them next to the Queen as consort and their own offspring putting aside Rickard Stark… They are old and unyielding, and waiting for you in Winterfell…’ Cley’s warning was honest, Sansa appreciated it and so did Jon, she was sure.

‘Fight for her… she’s worth it.’ the young Lord finally added. Sansa couldn’t help but feel the need to hug her friend and old lover for gratitude in his support.

‘It’s what I have been doing ever since I came back… fighting for her.’ Jon replied calmly and Sansa couldn’t help but nod at the truth his words held. Cley probably understood his return from exile but Sansa knew he meant his return from the dead. Retaking WInterfell, fighting Ramsay with his bare hands, the Night Walkers, King’s Landing, his own self in Volantis.

 _‘I fought… and I lost…’_ he once had growled at her, only since they reunited, he fought and he kept winning, no matter the cost.

Sansa finally cleared her throat loudly, the last of her tears going to her sleeve as she pushed the door open and found the two men facing each other, faces calm, eyes knowing as both pairs turned and looked at her with warmth.

‘Your wedding to Lyrra Forrester will be a day the North will Remember for years to come…’ Sansa announced, showing to both she had heard their conversation. Cley smiled and nodded while Jon watched her silently from across the room, she smiled back at her once lover and current friend, and finally looked at Jon, a nod of approval of his methods sent his way.

If he had told her he would speak with Cley Cerwyn she wouldn’t have let him, she would have prevented him, therefore missing the opportunity to win the man over their side. Sansa knew some battles would have to be only Jon’s, and some only hers, yet they were together in this, one battle at a time.

‘My Queen, it would be my honour if you would like to meet Lady Lyrra tonight. She had not been announced earlier in fear of disrespect but she arrived to represent House Forrester for your return and Wintefell’s Tournament and…’ Cley was babbling, trailing off with a smile sent towards Sansa once again, he was in love, Sansa was happy to see with another at last.

‘And it was a great chance for you to get to meet each other better…’ Sansa added and Cley nodded, color rising to his cheeks, Jon hid his own smile at the man’s reaction. Sansa would have expected screaming and jealous tantrums but she stood before two men who loved her, each on their own extend and she was only glad she didn’t feel the need to torment Jon more. There was no need, they had been through enough as it was.

‘And I am happy for you, my Queen, and for King Aegon…’ Cley added, this time nodding to both as Jon reached and stood next to Sansa who thanked her friend and ally. Cley looked at them for a long moment before he could smile at both, nodding at thoughts he kept to himself, although they didn’t seem dark to Sansa’s eyes. ‘These are reasons to celebrate, the feast will be one of many!’ he announced as he showed the way for Sansa and Jon. ‘Your secret is safe with me, as long as you feel the need for it to be one,’ Cley added and both Sansa and Jon nodded their thanks as they moved to the corridor leading to the Keep’s Great Hall.

The Cerwyn and the Targaryen Guards moved ahead, the Queensguard behind them, Cley and Jon spoke of the barracks while Sansa walked by Jon’s side, her hand reaching for his own, finding it warm and squeezing hers in reassurance. They would make it, without bloodshed, without hatred, without wars, would they not?

_A Targaryen Father and a Stark Mother._

Sansa’s free hand moved to her middle, where she finally allowed herself to cuddle the small, hard swell within the heavy dress and soft flesh. The truth forcing Sansa to wonder, for how long they would be able to keep it all a secret?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JONSA BABYYYYY  
> NEXT STOP WINTERFELL AND RICKARD STARK  
> JELLY JON WAS FOLLOWED BY POL JON AND I couldn't help it actually, the characters write themselves and although I had imagined more jelly jon before making the chap, he sucked it up like a grown boy and played the game as he should and won, *claps for smart jonnypants*  
> who is in love with Cley Cerwyn? I am! I noticed him in the 6x10 scene of Jon becoming King that Cley is the last one pledging so yeah! but now he's a good and faithful friend to our babies! Did I say babies?  
> JONSA BABY IS HAPPENING! it wasn't planned (like for real, not even by me) but it's coming!!!!!


	20. Jon X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see what happens when comments are happening? inspiration is happening and I make updated midweek! thank you so much for the support and the amazing words!  
> WINTERFELL AND RICKARD CHAPTEEEEEEEEER enough said

_Chapter Twenty - Jon X_

_“Winterfell is yours, Your Grace.’’_

The massive castle loomed before them as the royal procession was finally nearing Winterfell, they were close enough to make out the details on the granite walls and the banners flying over it. The direwolf on the pale banners contrasted with the Spring that had spread and bloomed around the ancestral home of the Starks. Jon glanced at Sansa who looked back at him, urging both their horses, a little faster, eager to reach home at last. Their bannermen were ahead of them, black, red, and shades of grey moving forwards in the final part of their journey. The wheelhouses and Kinvara along Sansa’s Queensguard and Cley Cerwyn who had followed them along the smaller Northern delegations were behind. 

After passing through Wintertown, the place expanded with more houses and mills, where people welcomed them with spring flowers, fruit and cheering, Ghost started running, abandoning his quick pace between Jon and Sansa to break into a sprint to the castle. 

Jon couldn’t help but feel fiercely proud for Sansa as the smile on her face couldn’t abandon her, she was content, no matter what had happened within the walls of Winterfell, no matter the dark moments in their stories, she was back home and her joy was clear as day. She would also be safe within Winterfell which only added to his own happiness.

After the Long Night, he had been there to burn the dead, have a feast for the living and then leave in a haste, taking away the dragons from his home, the place he loved the most. Now he was only elated to see it standing proud and restored, just like the rest of the North as he had witnessed with his own eyes, just like its Queen; while he reached a King in his own right, a guest, the cousin and secret love of the Queen. 

‘You’ve added to the outer walls…’ he noticed the warriors upon the walls, they were still in a distance but he would swear they were women. 

‘I did, after the wars, I had good counsellors, Lord Glover and Manderly, their men and coin helped.’ Sansa explained as the shouts for the Gates to open were heard, they did with a heavy thud, revealing hundreds waiting. Garlands, flags and colorful fabrics were decorating the main courtyard that waited for the Queen in the North. The cheerful voices were only covered by the bells that started, signalling Sansa’s return. A completely different picture than the one Jon had encountered while he had rode to Winterfell next to Daenerys Targaryen, her dragons seeding fear in the people’s hearts, now his own dragon, the last of his kind were flying further away, to keep people calm and himself preoccupied with the bloomed fields. 

He was back home, the walls he had grown up in, the place he had sacrificed everything for. He couldn’t help but exhale in the familiarity, no matter how much he or the world had changed. 

‘Maester Wolkan helped me with military tactics, but if I learnt one thing during the battles I witnessed is that you fight fiercely if you have something to do it for…’ Sansa replied, their horses trotting the final part of their journey in close proximity. ‘The North pledged their sons and daughters for Winterfell…’ Sansa explained as they reached the massive entrance, people were on both sides of the final feet to the gate, lining the procession,cheering, throwing petals at the lead of it. Sansa smiled at them as Jon’s eyes remained on her. 

‘Daughters?’ he asked and Sansa smiled and nodded towards the direction she wanted him to look at. Shield-maidens were inside the courtyard as well upon the battlements, bows crossing their shoulders, shields on their hands, banging their weapons to welcome Sansa. 

‘My Queensguard soldiers are allowed to marry… some of their wives trained to defend Winterfell… and their children live here. But most of them are widows and defiled daughters of the North… I needed everyone I could get after the Long Night, I couldn’t let them waste in whorehouses and shame when they could be of importance. If I ascended as a defiled widow so would they…’ Sansa’s words were coated with pride, determination, indeed, the North had changed a lot. ‘Their children play with Rickard, they will protect him as their own and he will be raised among Northern children and not as an only child...’Sansa added and Jon’s eyes lingered for long moments on her until she blushed and looked away. 

She hadn’t shared her tactics with anyone for there had been no one of her close friends or family to witness her advances and changes. She could only smile proudly at the validation and admiration she saw in Jon’s eyes and he was only happy she could read into his gaze for he couldn’t be prouder of her. He had fought for the North to save it, she hadn’t only kept it alive afterwards but also made it prosper.

The Queen and King finally reached the inside of the courtyard, their horses slowing as stable boys reached with bowed heads to help the animals come to a complete halt. At the entrance of the building, where he had stood behind Sansa once as a bastard, to greet the Lannisters and years later, where Sansa herself had stood to give over their castle to Daenerys Targaryen because of him, there was a small group of people waiting for them. Noble Lords and Ladies of the North, Glover and Manderly were there along new and old faces, some of them looked in awe, some of them in admiration, some starred in suspicion and unease. Ghost had reached them too, sitting on his rear legs next to Brienne. Jon couldn’t help but dart his eyes towards the boy that mattered to Sansa the most, between the She-Knight and the Direwolf. 

Rickard Stark was bouncing from foot to foot in excitement, dressed formally in clothes too strict for a beaming boy like himself, the fur reaching rosy cheeks and the Stark direwolf plastered on his small leather jerkin. Jon couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the healthy and strong looking child, he would swear he was seeing Arya as a toddler, only more chubby. Brienne’s large hand was holding the young Lord by the shoulder while his dark eyes -so much like Arya’s- were glued on Sansa. Jon didn’t have time to ponder more on the jaw that seemed inherited by Gendry Baratheon as Sansa was already dismounting on her own. Jon dismounted fast, rushing close to her as he could see her momentary unsteadiness. That weeks-long lurch of worry returned inside him as he held her by the back, wishing he could hold her more intimately but he wouldn’t risk it with the entirety of Wintrerfell around them, not while the High Lords of the North were watching them. 

‘Are you alright?’ his voice was quiet, only for her to hear but for the first time ever since their reunion at King’s Landing, she seemed completely distracted by someone else rather than Jon himself and he couldn’t blame her for the love in her eyes for the young boy was prominent. A mother’s love Jon had only seen in Catelyn’s eyes while looking at her own children. 

‘I’m more than alright,’ Sansa finally breathed, for a moment looking at Jon, her happiness was contagious as she finally stepped from between him and her horse. The entire courtyard knelt before the Red Wolf. Rickard found the chance to run to Sansa as Brienne knelt like the rest, the young Queen opened her arms widely for her nephew to run into them. 

‘Aunta Sansa!!’ the boy squealed as he fell in her embrace and Sansa’s arms wrapped around him, lifting him to her chest and showering his face with kisses, clutching the boy to her for dear life. 

‘My sweet, sweet love!’ Sansa cooed without shame as everyone stood around them. No one seemed surprised at the tender moment in a place as public as the courtyard and Jon knew everyone was probably used to such displays of affection. ‘You grew so big, Rickard!’ she added with pride and joy, her voice a melody of happiness. ‘And heavy, Gods, you’re a man grown!’ Sansa marveled as she held the boy and looked at his toothy smile before she could give him another long kiss on the cheek. Rickard laughed and wrapped his arms around her neck clumsily but firmly, clutching at her. 

Jon smothered the wave of guilt at the pain he knew he had caused Sansa, while at King’s Landing, when he had announced to her she would stay there. Realising now how long he delayed the reunion of the final Starks in Winterfell. Jon remained behind Sansa, smiling at the young boy over Sansa’s shoulder as she held him in her arms, rubbing his back, savouring the moment she had longed for. 

‘Who’s dis, Aunta?’ the boy finally asked, pointing at Jon, as Sansa turned around to face him, the young King couldn’t help but lose his breath at the sight of hers with a child in her arms, dark eyes and hair, smiles of happiness on their faces. Jon’s heart ached at the need he felt for this to be their future, only Rickard could be their nephew and a child of their own to be in Sansa’s -and his embrace- a boy named Robb, or a girl as beautiful as its mother. 

‘This my love,’ Sansa started, reaching Jon in her beautiful blue dress. Rickard started playing with Sansa’s large braid nervously, he seemed familiar and happy to do so, even bringing it to his lips to suck at the end of it. ‘Is your Uncle Aegon, Momma’s and Aunta’s cousin.’ Sansa was honest with her boy, grinning but taking her hair away -probably trying to cut some habit of the boy- as she presented Rickard to Jon who smiled tenderly at him. 

‘Hello, my young Lord,’ Jon offered his greeting and inclined his head, causing Rickard to watch him carefully before glancing at Sansa who nodded and then looking back at Jon. 

‘Hey…’ Rickard tried shyly, reaching out for Sansa’s braid unconsciously with his chubby hands. 

‘He’s a King, like I am Queen,’ Sansa whispered playfully in Rickard’s ear. 

‘Yor’ Gwace’ Rickard added, catching on what Sansa meant, he was a smart boy like his mother, Jon was certain and Sansa, Maester Wolkan and whoever else were appointed to teach him were doing a great job. The boy turned towards Sansa, her braid connecting them, looking deep into his aunt’s eyes the boy reached for her own ear. ‘He looks like meh.’ the boy observed and Jon couldn’t help but smile wider at the words, at the picture Sansa made with a boy looking like him, a boy that could be theirs. 

‘He does, my sweetling.’ Sansa confirmed, looking deep into Jon’s eyes this time, he would swear similar thoughts were passing through Sansa’s mind, only hers were clouded with worry that flickered in her eyes. They both knew something was changing, she didn’t speak of it and he didn’t urge her, but Jon was certain Sansa would go to the Maester, and if things had changed indeed, Jon would turn the world upside down if he had to do to be with her and what was created between them. ‘Now, now, have you left any lemon cakes for the feast tonight?’ Sansa asked playfully, causing her nephew to giggle and squirm in her arms, shaking his head, mischief all over his face. 

‘The last is hewe.’ Rickard pointed at his tummy, causing Sansa to audibly gasp and advance, her lips kissing and tickling at the toddler’s neck, causing him to squeal and kick, she stopped with a laugh a moment after as he writhed in her arms too much. Jon had never seen her playing like this with Rickon or Bran when they were babies even if she attended to them, always the helpful daughter, with dreams of children of her own. Fate had brought her a child after all and Sansa had made sure he would be raised with the love his mother couldn’t provide since she was away. And Jon knew, she would give as much love to her own too. 

Sansa held Rickard with one practiced arm as she gestured for Jon to reach the waiting party with her. Jon did so, standing proud, the Queensguard had blended with Winterfell’s defenses along the Targaryen soldiers and the Cerwyn and Forrester delegations behind. Jon could feel Kinvara’s eyes upon him and Sansa as the two finally reached the Lords waiting for them. 

‘Your Grace,’ Lord Glover and Manderly declared in unison, bowing deeply at Sansa who nodded, they looked at Jon next, greeting him solemnly, their bows remaining. ‘King Aegon,’ they chose the name they despised more than the name of a bastard. Jon still remembered their denials to help House Stark, he also remembered the day they knelt before him, declaring him their King, he could see now the displeasure in their features, cloaked by courtesy for their Queen’s sake. 

‘My Lords,’ Sansa replied first as the rest of her household bowed once again, welcoming her with smiles, ladies and lords, mostly younger than Manderly and Glover smiled and welcomed them and Jon was happy to see new people loyal to Sansa, easier to rule over, hopefully not overly entitled to their new seats of power. 

_‘Jon Snow is the White Wolf, the King In the North!’_

‘My Lords,’ Jon echoed Sansa towards the highborn, a tight smile on his lips. He hated the understanding deep inside him for the Lords’ reaction to his return. The Lords didn’t know the truth, and maybe, even when they would learn it now, after years, honour wouldn’t compel them to act upon it. They had sacrificed their men, their sons for Robb, then for the Battle of the Dawn and then the Great War, the remains of their Houses wanted to connect with the unmarried Queen of the North. Even if a hot spike of anger and possessiveness shook him to the core, Jon couldn’t help but understand them. He knew the North, they wouldn’t accept a Southern ruler and he had turned out to be one, and with a surname they hated the most. Accepting him even as their Consort would be a challenge, for him, for Sansa, for themselves. He could only hope they wouldn’t turn as far as becoming enemies of the Northern Crown for then, they would become dangerous and Jon wouldn’t allow any harm to come over Sansa, Rickard and whoever else were to be in the family... 

Rickard was already uninterested at the intense exchange, trying to reach for Ghost’s intact ear, causing the direwolf to shake his head and lick at the boy’s reaching fingers. Jon smiled at the boy who noticed he was being watched by his new uncle and withdrew his hand quickly, going back to Sansa’s braid, resting his head on her shoulder, watching Jon from there as Sansa hugged Brienne in an informal gesture between two women who used to be so close. 

Sansa had told Jon she had asked Brienne to remain behind in the South, for her shield to ascend as Commander of the Kingsguard for Bran and to extend her service into protecting her crippled brother who hadn’t been that for so long. Sansa always made sacrifices for her family, Jon wasn’t surprised now as Rickard was so calm and easy in her warm arms. 

‘I hope he didn’t trouble you much,’ Sansa was saying to Brienne who smiled genuinely but shook her head. 

‘He was a great Lord for Winterfell and House Stark.’ Brienne praised, knowing the boy heard her even if he had turned his head, still watching Jon who remained silent but winked at the boy who giggled and hid his face in Sansa’s neck, causing Jon to grin. 

‘We were all safe under Lord Rickard’s leadership, my Queen.’ Maester Wolkan joined the jesting praises and Sansa smiled and kissed the crown of the boy’s head. 

‘I am sure you were. But I believe it’s time for all of us to go inside, Aunta Sansa is back but she’s exhausted.’ Sansa replied, her eyes going to Maester Wolkan who seemed to understand she had need of him. He only inclined his head unnoticed by the Lords who were already turning around, wishing to go back in their drinking and eating under the Queen’s protection. Jon felt a knot in his stomach tightening. Easing only by the picture of Sansa with the boy in her arms as she started for the entrance’s stairs.

Jon was ready to walk by her side, he paused only for a moment, his eyes travelling to the Crypts. He would pay his respects to the dead, as soon as they settled and he made sure the most important living person in his life was alright. Jon’s eyes shut, the knot tightening once again as he felt Kinvara behind him, nearing him for the first time in days. Sansa was engaged into happy conversations with the Lords and Ladies that had been waiting for their Queen to return, all of them eager to fill her in with the last months’ events at court and across the North. 

‘She makes a beautiful picture indeed…with a babe in her arms...’ Kinvara’s words were liquid smoke, smothering Jon’s lungs, making his skin crawl. ‘A picture the Lord of Light approves…’ she added with that always knowing smirk upon her face.

‘Stay away from her and the boy,’ Jon’s voice was curt, this time, he wouldn’t stop, if something _-anything-_ happened, his vice grip around the priestess’ throat wouldn’t ease until she was sent to her God. ‘And don’t try to compromise the Northern faith to the Old Gods, Kinvara. You’ll only gain enemies and I’m done taking the punches for the foreigners I keep bringing here.’ The brutal truth was what kept him alive through that ritual in Volantis, the knowledge of mistakes past and the lessons taken for the errors not to be repeated. 

Kinvara’s nostrils flared at the prohibition anew, she shut her mouth, glaring at him and then at the entrance to the castle where the young Queen was escorted inside from her people while Jon remained behind with the priestess. 

‘All it takes for the Lord of Light is a spark…’ Kinvara’s words were low, furious. ‘For fire to ignite…’ she added, her eyes still glued on the fire-kissed Queen before they could travel across the courtyard, where the red leaves of the weirdwood peaked over the stone fence. ‘And sometimes all it takes is a drop… for life to occur in the darkness.’ Her final words had Jon’s head snapping towards Kinvara, her games were sick and he was done with them. 

He was ready to reach for her throat, extract the truth and then her final breath. Hot fury rushing through his veins over the riddles and the lies but with the corner of his eye he caught Sansa the moment she turned around, searching for him. Her eyes turned cold as they met Kinvara’s heated gaze before they could look back at Jon, wondering and seeking reassurance. He only nodded at her, hands clutched into fists at his sides, wishing he had Kinvara’s throat in them. He would be with Sansa the soonest, he reassured her with a look and she nodded before Rickard could distract her again.

Jon inhaled deeply, he couldn’t make a scene in the courtyard of Winterfell and he couldn’t linger more, people were watching him with all kinds of emotions from admiration and curiosity to fear and worry. 

‘Leave,’ he commanded her darkly and Kinvara chuckled in mockery. 

‘Good luck, if I do…’ she warned and finally left his side. He exhaled, trying to calm himself. Maybe she was playing with him, with his deepest fears and desires, he would wait for more trustworthy people, such people existed in Winterfell, Maester Wolkan would give them answers. 

‘My King, this arrived for you a day ago,’ the fearful voice of a boy reaching him snapped Jon out of his thoughts. Jon reached with his still gloved hand and took the roll of parchment from the boy who had rushed to him from the rookery. He looked at the black wax stamp of the letter with the Raven upon it. 

King’s Landing, Bran’s old sigil, Davos using the old seal for Jon to understand it was from him and not Manfrey Martell. Only the Hand of the King was allowed to send word to the monarch yet Davos was sending the letter straight to Winterfell, where he knew loyal people wouldn’t dare open or hide it from their old Liege. 

_Dark Wings, Dark Words._

Fury and dread kindled within Jon in equal measure as he finally moved towards the opposite direction from the stairs of the castle where the living cheered and celebrated Sansa’s return North. His own return to Winterfell would be initiated with his descend to the Crypts, where the dead would keep loyally silent while he read of the betrayals churning in the South. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eeeek Hades & Persephone vibes anyone? just me? ok...  
> well not many things happened but many things happened!!!!   
> I wanted them to reach Winterfell and I wanted to explore their return home in detail and not just a paragraph so I wanted Sansa and SWEET little Rickard to have a proper reunion and isn't he a sweet cinnamon bun????? I was checking on three year olds and what they can and can't do because I hate reading toddlers speaking/acting/doing things teenagers would do lol  
> as for Kinvara, did you miss her? I didn't but she's there and oh boyyyyy, Davos sent a letter!!!!!! we're going to see what is happening in the next chapter along the first encounters with the Noble Lords and the Tournament of course  
> Harrenhal 2.0 is happening!?  
> I can't wait for your thoughts on it :)


	21. Sansa XI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> after that speedy Wednesday update my life got crazy and I had to devote some time to myself for various things and to friends and my work which only gets crazy but anyway here we are, a chapter I wanted to make for a long time... <3

_Chapter Twenty One - Sansa XI_

__

_“Well, Father always promised, didn’t he?’’_

Ghost whined as Sansa reached the Crypts, the direwolf accompanied by the restored stone wolves on each side of the entrance. Everyone was inside the castle, readying the feast for the return of their Queen. Sansa took a deep breath to steady her racing heart as she took the few steps leading down. Ghost remained, guarding the Crypts from anyone who would follow her inside.

Sansa didn’t visit the Crypts as frequently as she had before the wars. The memories of the walls penetrated by the undead were a subject of her nightmares in the first years of her reign. Remaining alone in the North with her ghosts hadn’t been alleviated by her position as Queen. Yet, now she knew where she would find Jon, she knew him all too well. She also felt the sense of duty to honour her ascensors upon her arrival, even if her sleep could be troubled that night.

Within the first alcove, her eyes travelled at the bone box made of stone, the Kraken engraved along the Direwolf.

Theon, who had fought for Winterfell, allowed by Yara and Sansa who later negotiated over the fate of his remains. He was raised in Winterfell, he lost his way for it and atoned for his actions there, died every bit a Stark like the rest of them in that very place, he belonged in Winterfell. Yara had allowed it, Sansa had commanded for him to be buried with her family, guarding her forever like he had last guarded Bran.

As she walked through the familiar paths, Sansa wondered if she was a selfish woman. Keeping the remains of a brother from his sister, keeping a son from his father, now keeping another child that shouldn’t have been because she had been too much in love with the man standing before the North, for many, as a thorn in its side. Ever since she learnt the truth of Jon’s parentage, she had pondered on Lyanna Stark, wondering if she had been a victim of the Targaryen charm or a selfish woman as well. One who left and war came at her wake from the North to Dorne, where she had died giving birth to Jon. Now, as she confirmed her condition with the Maester, she couldn’t distinguish selfishness from love, maybe there wasn’t a distinction, if there was, she couldn’t see it. She could only see all the complications coming with it and the limited time for them to take action.

Jon was standing before the statue of Ned Stark, a guarded expression upon his features, his eyes lost on the face made of stone. At his sight, Sansa’s heart kicked in her ribcage, anxiety rising inside her. They had promised they would be honest, he was suspecting it already. Selfish she might be, but this was between them, and she was done keeping things from him, they had promised.

She approached, her footsteps halting behind him, Jon had already lit the candles for her father, for Robb, for Rickon and Bran -whose statue had been placed by her advisors while she was in the South- Jon had also lit the candles for his mother, and even for her own. Sansa remained silent, taking another deep breath, the scent of bee wax mingled with the warm humidity of the Crypts along burnt parchment, the silence deafening. Sansa’s eyes travelled to the ground by Jon’s feet, where the remains of a burnt letter remained. She had been informed a letter had reached Winterfell for the King of the Seven Kingdoms. Its sigil different than the three-headed dragon or the Sun penetrated by the Spear. The last letter she had recieved with the Raven sigil had bore the news of her baby brother’s final days. Dark Wings, Dark Words, her mother used to say, Sansa’s eyes momentary travelled to the stern eyes of her Catelyn Stark’s statue, the candlelight dancing oddly upon the stone.

‘Davos sent me a letter, in secret,’ Jon’s voice was rough after the silence, sulking, deeply familiar, Sansa could hear the turmoil in it too. ‘There’s quickening in Naath…’ Sansa’s stomach dropped at the news. The time of the journey had been one of discovery and doses of freedom, now they were back in their stations, the power weighing down on their shoulders. ‘The Dothraki and the Unsullied are in turmoil, over marching to Westeros once again… To avenge Daenerys’ death…. To kill me for returning.’ Sansa could hear the twisted amusement in his tone, she could hear the darkness.

‘What are you planning to do? The North doesn’t have many ships but there’s the army that would fight and-’ Sansa’s words spilled from her lips in a rush, she had threatened the foreigners with war before, over Jon’s fate, she would do it again even if she would have to force the Northern Lords to fight once again. She would kill the turncoats and the deserters, she would do anything necessary.

‘No blood will be spilt, Northern or Southern, if I can help it….’ His words were finalizing, he was the tactician and he had a dragon, she knew of the destruction such a unit could make. Yara’s problem had been ripped out root and stem, burnt before it could bloom into a general uprising. Sansa’s hand went to her middle, cuddling the hard swell there, unseen as Jon’s face lowered before him, his eyes drifting close.

‘I had expected this… My return won’t cost people’s lives. We have enough orphans and cripples across the Kingdoms…’ Jon’s words were full of remorse, just like Sansa’s thoughts over them, if he fought on his own, there was a possibility their own child would be an orphan, just like themselves. Sansa hadn’t seen King’s Landing being sacked, only its carcass afterwards. She had seen the battle of Blackwater however, she could imagine how it looked while it burnt, she could imagine Balerion, Drogon back then, burning the city, but she knew Dragons could be shot down from the sky, their riders could be murdered. ‘They raped women, killed surrendered troops, they executed war prisoners under my watch, my grudge is with them as much as theirs is with me…’ She wasn’t surprised, she had seen war horrors, witnessed them with her own eyes, she had only wished she wouldn’t see more. ‘It’s not their armies nor the battle that scares me…’ Sansa could detect the bile of betrayal. ‘It’s the fact that Martell hasn’t notified me about it…’ he deadpanned. ‘I am trying to keep Dorne, to stop the blood… to honour it after what my father did to Elia Martell…’ Jon finally turned and looked at Sansa, the pain flickering in his eyes went right through her, causing her to finally reach for him, her hand soothing on his arm.

‘Jon…’ her words trailed off, unable to continue for a moment. With Ned Stark as his father, he was a shamed bastard, but the son of an honourable man, a fool maybe, but honourable. With Rhaegar Targaryen as his father, there were no clear answers, only glimpses, of a man who loved his second wife, of a man who betrayed his first wife along their children, of a man who was gentle, of a man who threw the kingdoms in the winds, the outcome of which led thousands to the grave. Sansa could feel for Jon and his need to make up for all the blood the Targaryen dynasty had caused Westeros to shed. Only in Rhaegar's case, a Stark was also responsible. She could feel the weight too, her own House responsible back then and later on for battles that cost sons to their fathers, parents to their children.

‘Rickard is a dear boy,’ Jon’s words didn’t really surprise Sansa at the change of subject. ‘You didn’t name him Eddard…’ Jon pointed out softly, mild curiosity in his observation as he opened his arm for her to reach even closer, she melted into him. Sansa nodded once more and took his hand in hers, standing by his side, her eyes never leaving the face of her father.

‘I was angry at my father, just like you were with yours...’ She confessed softly. ‘I was angry at him for not saying a thing all his life, for taking the secret here, in his grave… For leaving my mother to drown in her hatred, in a torment that wasn’t hers to suffer.’ she added, her eyes never leaving the statue. ‘I was angry at my mother too, for never loving you when she held so much love for the rest of us. If she knew the truth, she would have loved you, you would have been raised differently…’ Sansa mused sadly, breathing through her nose to keep the tears that stung in her eyes. ‘I was angry at everyone, at Arya for leaving again and again, at Bran for changing and staying South… at you, at myself. Rickard had nothing to do with all this, he deserved a strong name, a name remembered with respect.’ Sansa finally looked at Jon. She had never expected him to meet Rickard, one of his grandfathers had killed the other. Sansa had never expected the complicated past would come for Arya’s son, her Heir, not as directly as it had. Jon was alive, his child too, inside her, Rickard was her heir. From nothing, the Stark bloodline was coming alive again, and once again it was mixed with dragonblood.

Jon looked at Sansa, facing her fully, his arm wrapping around her waist, tugging her to him. She went willingly, both of them still dressed fully in their cloaks and furs. Maybe they could pretend nothing happened, maybe they could somehow go back in time, after reclaiming Winterfell, when it had been just the two of them.

‘I learnt the truth down here…’ Jon’s voice was deep but calm, laced with sadness, his eyes searching Sansa’s. ‘I told the truth down here too…’ he added and Sansa knew what he meant, to the Dragon Queen, the woman he placated, the woman he swore himself to and then killed, jeopardising his honour to stop the Night King. He took a deep breath, resting his forehead against hers as Sansa touched his chest and shoulders, holding him close.

‘I would do it all over again…’ Jon admitted in an exhausted exhale. ‘If I had to, for you to live, for Spring to come… I would do it all over again. I would kill her again and I would go to exile again. I would burn again...’ Sansa remained silent at his confession poured out of him, baring him for all he was,his need to express everything he held inside his soul was paralyzing. He had indeed changed, he had become whole, however he suffered to achieve completeness he had done it and she could only hold him close as he came undone before her with his words.

‘I hope I have put a babe in your belly,’ he went on, confessing another desire, only this time Sansa was surprised. He had told her he didn’t want to give her a bastard, she realised he wasn’t planning on doing so. ‘After seeing you today with Rickard, after seeing your smile…’ he moved a inch away, just to look deep into her eyes as he cupped her face. The desperation was evident on his face, along the love.

‘Jon…’ Sansa tried, her skin tingled for his touch.

‘I know... I shouldn’t, I know!‘ he admitted, unable to stop and wait. ‘But after almost losing you at the Twins… after so many years in the shadows of being a bastard, after finding you again, after all the resentment for what I was… and what my children would be…’ Jon took a deep breath and Sansa simply allowed for the river inside him to run her as he confessed his very heart to her.

‘Now that I have it all, the name, the power, the time… the chance…’ Jon’s intensity had left Sansa speechless as he finally stole a kiss from her lips, drawing strength from her to continue. ‘I don’t want to die again and leave nothing behind.’ his voice cracked for the first time and Sansa tried to breathe his name again but he only smiled sadly, nodding his head as he looked deep into her eyes.

‘You’re not going to die…’ she struggled with the words, tightening her arms around him.

‘I want a family with you, I want children with you, I want you, Sansa…’ Jon’s words were deep, slow. He had been cruel, a fierce dragonking but at that very moment, he was that silent, gentle young man she had reunited with at Castle Black. ‘I want it all, your love and you anger, your challenge and your support and no matter what we-’

‘You have me,’ Sansa managed finally, halting him at last. Her trembling hand took his and moved it, turning it at the wrist for his palm to touch her stomach. Jon’s eyes widened, expecting, their depths a storm of uncertainty and joy. ‘And you’ll have a family with me…’ this time her own voice cracked as she confirmed what he suspected for days if not weeks. ‘I’m with child,’ she finally admitted to both herself and Jon, vocalising the truth that was changing everything.

They remained silent, time slowing down, looking deep at each other’s eyes as their common ancestors stood witnesses to the secret revealed.

Until Jon finally exhaled the breath he had been holding in his lungs, kissing Sansa on the lips, causing her to gasp her own breath out as he broke the kiss and sunk to his knees before her, her hands gentle on their touch following him, stroking his hair and shoulders. She watched him, the tears of relief finally falling on her cheeks as Jon kissed the fabric of her dress over the hard swell behind her navel. He nuzzled his face on her stomach, his arms holding Sansa close to him, firmly but delicately.

‘A babe…’ Jon whispered, looking up at her, Sansa took another shaky breath but nodded her head.

‘A babe,’ she confirmed in the same whisper, looking down at him, the realisation sinking further down every time she vocalised the truth of their child’s existence.

Jon stood up, his smile radiant, she could see in his eyes there was no obstacle for him anymore, he would overcome it all, for her and for the child. And she would do the same, they wouldn’t become his parents all over again, no, they wouldn’t cause destruction, they wouldn’t have thousands die for them.

Jon gathered her in his arms, lifting Sansa off her feet like he had done before, the chuckle of happiness finally escaping his lips, causing her to smile despite what laid ahead.

‘Marry me,’ his voice, sure, happy, clear, had her breath stolen from her lungs. As he set her down again, cupping her face. She focused on Jon who seemed so certain, so ready. He made it sound so easy where it really wasn’t, just a few moments before, he revealed to her war was brewing in his name. ‘Reach out, take it all, keep the North, take the other Seven… Marry me, reach it out and have it all.’ his words were urging, challenging, offering it all for her.

 _‘I won’t give you a bastard.’_ he had promised after their first time together. He intended to keep his promises to her, he had reassured her times and times again. Yet, this was a game both of them played and she had to do her part. She had once thought she wouldn’t be married of love, now the love of her life was expecting an answer, his child growing inside her womb.

Sansa breathed in, her eyes trailing from Jon’s joyous face to the statues around them, her parents, his mother, her siblings. At least three generations of Starks were in the Crypts, one inside the tombs, one in each other’s arms and one more inside her belly, resting peacefully while the world around them stood on end.

Sansa looked back at Jon’s dark grey eyes, her lips parted.

_A Targaryen Father and a Stark Mother._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Jonny boy! torn between what he wants and what he has to do to get there, the letter will be explored more in the next chapter, this was Sansa's turn to have the pov and I didn't want to stop it nor spoil too many things from it, Naath is in turmoil and Jon knew that would happen (ironically Martell and Davos asked him what they should do in case this happened in the first chapters) as for our boy here speaking his heart out, he had to, he's back home and he got all the feels and he can finally visit his ancestors (the ones he's most proud of at least) without a crazy dragon patronising his every moment lol  
> and yes Sansa is with child indeed and now they both know for sure and my babieeees are going to have a baby through all the turmoil!!!! and a wedding proposal, or mostly a demand lol silly cliffhanger, we all know she's going to say yes but I somehow had to finish the chapter and pass to Jon's pov <3  
> I would love to hear what you have to say about it, expectations? criticism? comments for inspiration? <3 thank you for reading!


	22. Jon XI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posting today because a) your reviews were so very supporting and sweet and b) tomorrow we must attend a wedding after my work so it will be super busy  
> enjoy :*

_Chapter Twenty Two - Jon XI_

_‘I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory.’_

Jon’s heart was kicking inside his ribcage, his hands aching to keep her closer, even closer, forever close to him, as he waited for her answer. Her lips parted, Sansa’s eyes darted around them for an endless moment, maybe too scared one of their ancestors would come out of their Crypt and condemn her for her words and actions. 

_Their actions._

His own eyes travelled to her stomach again, where their babe was peacefully growing inside. As his wife and Queen or not, Sansa was his priority, a long time before he learnt they were cousins, a long time before he satisfied his need for her. 

The letter from Davos had spoken of the Dothraki, who conveniently chose to bypass their own laws of succession and didn’t declare him their Khal after he killed their Khaleesi. They were provoked by the Unsullied in their old Queen’s name but were still reluctant and in Essos. Grey Warm -the head of a motherless army of orphan slaves- was even in secret contact with Daario Naharis and the Second Sons, seeking reinforcements to sail for Westeros again through Meereen. Meereen who was in conflict from the social disruption Daenerys’ rise -and fall- had caused, between the surviving old establishment and the young enforcement from Naharis. Manfrey Martell kept it all a secret, forcing Davos to send the letter. Davos had also mentioned -warned- his health was declining due to some illness the new Grand Maester couldn’t detect. 

Jon was desperate for a positive answer from Sansa as they stood before each other. He was also desperate about the enemies raised in the East, the South and even in the North, old friends and allies tasted the bitterest of them all as they lay suspicious and hostile eyes towards him.

A Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing, yet he wasn’t alone anymore. Sansa was there, his wolf and their babe was inside her womb, the continuation of both Targaryen and Stark lines. 

He would crush anyone who would pose a threat to the world their child would come to.

‘I know it scares you,’ the words spilled from his lips without his consent, the agony for the moments passing without a word from her end, taking the lead. ‘Despite your love for me of which I’m sure, I know you’re a Queen for years now… A good Queen for that matter. Sansa, I know you’re scared of my return and my want for it all…’ Sansa tried to speak but he had poured out all his love and all his need for her a few moments prior, he wouldn’t withdraw but he would make sure all this wasn’t endangering her in any way. ‘At the council, after the Tournament, I will declare my support to you, for the Northern Lords to shut their mouths, I will clarify I’m here as a friend…’ Jon’s voice was turning desperate, his hands squeezing gently. ‘We don’t have much time…’ his voice turning soft although the realisation grew hard and heavy in the pit of his stomach, she would be showing soon. He wasn’t afraid for himself, his enemies would be eliminated but Sansa was his weakness. They had to expose themselves as one thing, for their child’s honour, yet that very action would let every enemy out there know that through her and their babe, they could get to him. She had to be protected, no one would reach for her, she would be safe. ‘If you’re afraid to announce our betrothal, I understand, I don’t want to force you into anything. I want you to be happy and free and-’

‘Jon…’ his name on her lips had a certain power over him, stopping him from killing Ramsay with his bare hands, from cutting off Gendry’s arm, from beating her almost assassin, from halting his very own breath in his lungs. He was a dragonking, ruthless and remorseless for what he had done and would have to do to stop his enemies but if they truly wanted him to stop, all they needed to do was have Sansa call out his name and he would. Only they would have to pass through him to get her and he would never allow that. 

Sansa leaned in, her lips soft against his, sharing a breath, exchanging strength from one another.

He wanted her to want to be with him, as his wife and Queen, the mother of his children, he wanted her to marry for love, in her own will, not forced from someone or circumstance, he wanted to be her choice, more than anything. He could see the turmoil in her own eyes as they parted slightly for her to speak her own mind and heart. He could see all the worries and joyes in that sky blue color he grew to love and hoped their child would inherit. 

‘After all that has happened… I’m not afraid of many things.’ Sansa’s words were calm, calculated, as always, yet Jon could hear the emotions laced in them. He could hear the tenderness and insecurity for what she had once wanted, and what she ended up with. ‘Apart from the dead and the fire and the monsters I encountered, my nightmares years ago were full of me dying lonely.’ Sansa added, her words pained, Jon remained silent, his heart aching at how she had been left alone to rule, without a single soul with her. ‘What still scares me is waking up the morrow and being alone again without you, without this,’ her hand moved over her belly, showing him she wanted their babe as much as he did. 

‘Without Rickard without Ghost. I’m scared I’ll wake up and all this would be a dream and I will be back right after the war, before my coronation, where I had returned alone and with chaos in my hands and no one to counsel and help me.’ Sansa’s eyes filled with tears and Jon couldn’t help but reach for her face the moment they fell, he caught them before staining her cheeks, his touch soft and tender as she spoke her own heart in the peace of the Crypts. 

‘What scares me is that one day, I will die alone, bitter and starved of love, without the family and the babies and the husband that stupid girl dreamed of.’ Sansa added, her hands gentle on his chest, her wet eyes looking deep into his own. ‘I still want those things, with you, wanted them with you for a long time…’ Sansa smiled finally, a sight warming and radiant, like her fire-kissed hair. ‘So yes, Jon Snow, Aegon Targaryen… I will marry you,’ Sansa’s reply made Jon exhale finally in a happy chuckle of relief, only then realising how long he had kept his breath trapped inside his lungs. 

He commanded a dragon and the fate of millions, but she commanded his every breath and he would gladly stop breathing if it meant for her to be happy and safe, for their babe to be protected. 

As Jon captured Sansa’s lips in another kiss, he realised this was what love felt like, forever feeling half, his once stabbed and bruised heart belonging to Sansa, her own heart now replacing his. Maybe, when he would hold the fruit of their love in his hands, in a few moons from then, he would feel whole again, perfect and healthy and precious and beautiful like his or her mother. 

Ghost’s trotting footsteps were enough to make them break their kiss. The direwolf found them easily, reaching for Sansa and snouting his way to her stomach before looking back, towards the way he had come. Jon and Sansa broke apart quickly as soon footsteps were heard and Brienne reached them. Jon instantly missed Sansa’s warmth from his embrace but he stopped himself from reaching closer again as both he and Sansa faced the armoured woman. Whatever Brienne thought of the proximity that still existed between the two sovereigns or the tearful face of the Queen, the she-Knight masked it with a polite nod as she faced Sansa exclusively, there was an air of calmness among the two. Jon nodded at the woman’s presence, satisfied she was ever loyal, he wasn’t alone in protecting Sansa. 

‘My Queen,’ Brienne declared dutifully, ‘my Lady’ had changed and Jon noticed the ease with which Sansa faced the blond woman. He remembered briefly her light hair in contrast to her dark armour, rushing her way out of the dragon pit while he had landed. He had learnt later on from Kinvara and through Cerwyn’s letter that Brienne had left to reach the North and keep Rickard safe at Sansa’s command. Sansa had allowed Jamie Lannister to stay in Winterfell because Brienne had vouched for him. They were close and trusted each other, someone would take care of Sansa while he dealt with his rising enemies. 

‘The feast in your honour -and his Majesty’s- is set to begin soon,’ Brienne explained curtly, finally turning her eyes towards Jon, inclining her head at his mention, she returned her gaze at Sansa. ‘And Lord Rickard is refusing to go to bed without you reading to him, now that you’re back…’ Brienne added, her eyes softening at the mention of the boy. ‘He’s currently jumping up and down on his bed, driving the maids and the Maester out of their minds.’ Brienne added, forcing herself to keep the humour from her voice, Sansa however didn’t hold back, she chuckled, nodding her head as she looked at Jon who smiled at her genuinely. 

‘I will have to tuck him in,’ Sansa’s words were soft, a smile on her tearful face painted the image of happiness. She would be -already was- an amazing mother. 

‘I will stay here a moment longer and reach for you outside the Great Hall.’ Jon reassured her, he still needed to pay his respects to his own mother. Their moment down there in the Crypts another secret that had to be held for a little longer. 

‘Of course,’ Sansa replied, glancing at her aunt’s statue before looking at Jon, her eyes told him everything he needed. They were in this together. She finally turned and started walking, Ghost remained behind while Brienne made way for Sansa to move forward for herself to follow. Before she could leave however, Jon called out for the blond knight.

‘Ser Brienne,’ Jon tried the title, not sure if he was offending her but not finding another way to address her with her honours. Tormund had told him she had been knighted right before the Battle for the Dawn. It seemed he had made no error or dishonor as Brienne halted and turned towards him. Jon wasn’t sure what he wanted to tell her, maybe only reassure someone so close to Sansa and as it seemed to Rickard too that he was no threat. Only if she and the rest knew how far from a threat he was to Sansa… ‘I…You have no reason to worry over Sansa’s safety when she’s near me.’ Jon finally spoke the words, Brienne remained stoic. 

‘I have not,’ Brienne verified, Jon nodded. ‘Certainly not when she’s _near me.’_ she added and Jon despite the awkwardness smiled and nodded. Of course, Brienne had defended and remained close to Sansa for much longer than Jon himself. He could guess Sansa asked the she-knight to remain with Bran for his own safety, another sacrifice she had made for her family. ‘If I may…’ Brienne seemed conflicted to speak her piece of mind but Jon nodded anyway. ‘Despite your choices… despite your actions and sense of honour, I always trusted you around her.’ Brienne spoke the words calmly. ‘And that’s all that matters to me, that she’s protected and safe and I hope she will continue to be...’ Brienne’s words were more a warning than a wish. Jon nodded his head dutifully. 

‘I would give my life for her.’ Jon reassured her and Brienne finally smiled, somehow verifying him, winning back the trust of everyone, one by one, starting with the people closest to the Queen and ending with the last villager beyond Queenscrown. 

‘Me too,’ Brienne replied easily, nodding. ‘Good then, despite it all… we have a thing in common.’ she added and Jon smiled back and nodded as well. ‘If you’ll excuse me, your Majesty, I have a Queen to protect and a young Prince to help her put to bed.’ Brienne finally added and Jon realised Rickard had more than one guardian as everyone in Winterfell took care of the young boy with love. Good, his nephew -born from a Stark and a stag was being loved- his own babe -born from the Queen and a dragon- would also be loved and protected. 

‘Of course,’ Jon replied, allowing Brienne to leave his presence, she did so after inclining her head once again before turning around and walking away. Jon’s eyes traveled to Ghost who had moved before Lyanna Stark’s statue, massive in comparison with the stone wolf who accompanied the Northern daughter whose bones Ned Stark had brought back home along with her baby son. 

Jon approached the statue of his mother, looking up at her serene face and extended hand, his own hand reached Ghost’s massive neck, the direwolf remained calm as Jon looked at the beast. 

‘I’m sorry we parted ways, boy,’ Jon whispered, Ghost looked at him before seating on his rear legs. ‘But I know you will be there for the children, all the children.’ he added before he could look back at his mother. ‘I wish I knew if you were happy. I wish I knew if it was fully your choice, I wish I knew what you thought of him annulling his marriage and declaring his firstborn daughter and his son bastards… I wouldn’t judge, I just wish I knew…’ Jon whispered, alone in the Crypts again, Ghost would keep his words a secret. ‘It doesn’t matter, I suppose… Sansa and I won’t be like you and Rheagar, I won’t allow it, our Houses are the same, nothing else. We’re not you two, Sansa and I are different.’ Jon’s words were curt, he smothered the bitterness over the past, the hope shining before him over the future. 

He felt the point of the sword nudging at his kidney a moment too later before Ghost could give a warning bark. He gasped as he felt the blade penetrating his cloak, fur and leather jerkin while, stoping at his skin, a hand held him on the other side, if he moved, the blade could easily run him through from side to side. 

‘That was all too sweet but give me a reason why not slay you right now and your red priestess in her sleep?’ The voice was familiar, rough, slightly changed but he would recognise it through a commotion of people. He had, during the Battle for the Dawn, when he had distracted Viserion for her to reach the Godswood. 

‘Needle… Against me?’ Jon asked calmly, his voice gruff, the surprise fading quickly from it, deep down hoping Arya would actually give him the chance to explain himself. 

‘I’m defending my family,’ she echoed the words of their reunion, only now she excluded him. Sansa and Rickard were more important to Arya than anyone else. Jon understood, on a deeper level as the realisation of Sansa carrying their babe settled in. Trust was something you earned with effort, it was never given easily, it also took a flitting moment for it to be lost, especially when encountering Arya Stark. 

‘I’m her family too,’ he could only repeat his own words, showing Arya that despite the controversial allies he brought with me, the sigils he carried and the dragon he commanded, he was still family. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOOOOH Arya is back!!!!! I couldn't find a better way for her to enter the story! she's a protective wolf herself and word of a dragon returning reached her in the west!!!! she couldn't let her son and sister like that!  
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter from Jon's POV, he opened up in the previous one and was left vulnerable and open so he tried to patch things up but Sansa simply put him out of his misery, I hope you enjoyed her own response and of course Brienne had to be a little sassy but always protective and good and perfect and back with Sansa!!!! and of course Rickard needs Aunta Sansa to go to sleep now that she's back!  
> we also learnt some more things from the letter, I like that D&D simply forgot Naharis in Meereen but who am I kidding, they threw away so many important things... BUT I DON'T!  
> I can't wait for your thoughts on it!


	23. Sansa XII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone!!! here's a chapter big enough for all of you to enjoy, there's a chance I'll be going out of Athens for a few days for much needed vacation, depends on the surging cases of Covid in my country, if we indeed try our luck, I'll be away for a few days but I will write and update as soon as I'm back around the middle of August. 
> 
> Enjoy...

Chapter Twenty Three - Sansa XII

_”The Lone Wolf dies… but the Pack Survives._

Sansa moved outside the Great Hall with Brienne by her side, the crown firmly set on her head, she had refreshed quickly before feasting with the Northern Lords with Jon by her side. She had already lost a battle with one of them, the most important, she wouldn’t yield for anyone else.

Rickard had at last slept in his bed, which for now was set in Sansa’s solar after frantic negotiations between the Queen and the Heir of the North over her return and his need to sleep in her bed. “Like befowe” he had demanded, recalling the times Sansa allowed her nephew to sleep in her bed and embrace, lulled by old time stories. They had compromised with the bed being moved to the solar of her chambers, where the boy finally gave in, exhausted from the excitements of the day, releasing his aunt to go to the feast that felt more like a battle.

Jon was waiting outside the doors of the Great Hall, his own head adorned with his black crown. A frown etched upon his face, his dark eyes distantly looking at some spot on the floor. He probably heard her approaching and he relaxed, his eyes travelled to her, a thin smile on his lips, gaze travelling to her middle only for a moment, reassuring and warm.

‘Are you alright?’ Sansa asked quietly as they stood before the guards at the door who bowed dutifully. Jon nodded his head, taking her hand to kiss her knuckles.

‘I’m fine, are you ready?’ he asked and Sansa wished she had the time to call him out for his lie but all things considered and the doors opening already, she let it go.

The muffled until then sounds came at full force as the large chamber buzzed with energy and voices, ale already poured, musicians ready to start.

In the North, there was no need for announcements of royal blood. Sansa entered the chamber with Jon by her side, like she had done many times in the past, while he was Lord Snow and she the Lady of Winterfell, and later on when he was the King in the North for those short months.

People started cheering and she knew most of the happy sounds were addressed to her while she felt the glares from Lord Manderly and Lord Glover who nonetheless, stood in respect at the royal table overseeing the chamber along the rest of the Lords, while Jon and Sansa approached. Cley Cerwyn and Lyrra Forrester smiled encouragingly at both, easing somewhat the tension in Sansa’s stomach, where a knot was growing along her babe.

Sansa saw with the corner of her eye, Jon noticing the Northern throne with the two wolves engraved on the back along the weirdwood as they approached, she saw the apprehension for details in his dark eyes, the satisfaction. Another carved but simpler chair was set for the King of the Seven Kingdoms at the Queen’s right, where the honoured guests were seated, they took their positions, ale already filling their cups, a loaf of bred waiting to be cut as custom demanded.

Sansa raised her cup, her gaze travelling across the grey and black of leather and steel that spread before her. Familiar Northern faces, dark eyes and voices she grew to recognise through audiences and councils, people loyal to the Starks for centuries and people loyal to the Starks for months.

Sansa was back in her home and no one would frighten her, not there, not anywhere else.

‘Dear Friends,’ Sansa’s greeting voice had the commotion quieting down, many eyes finally drifting from her to Jon and back again, waiting for their Queen to set the tone. ‘I left for King’s Landing to bury my last brother,’ Sansa’s voice was steady, calm, despite the content of her words. ‘And I returned North with my cousin, Aegon Targaryen.’ she added and searched the faces for signs of discomfort or hostility, she found some. ‘Who once was in my very position, protecting the people and uniting us to fight the Night…’ Sansa reminded everyone and many -until then hostile looks-turned downwards. ‘And yes, the rumours are true, thanks to him, I survived an attempt for my life at the Twins.’ Sansa knew how to touch upon honour and memory of the people. ‘For that, I am forever grateful to him and owe him my life, just like I do since he was the one who made us stand a chance against the Long Night.’ More faces lowered, more nodded.

‘As mine and the North’s royal guest, Aegon Targaryen is welcome here.’ Sansa’s voice was almost strict. ‘And as the King of the Seven Kingdoms, he and I will ensure prosperity across Westeros will be established.’ Sansa this time looked at Jon who nodded with a tight smile. There were murmurs across the room but no voice of discouragement raised individually, everyone was more or less restrained by their own sense of loyalty for the Queen, growls from specific people however were heard. Sansa could recognise them close to her from the table of noblemen who sat around her. Jon raised his own cup, his dark eyes set on specific people, everyone quieted down completely.

‘I see faces new, faces I know they serve Queen Sansa in respect and loyalty.’ Jon started, his own voice deep, calculated, Sansa could hear the underlined uneasiness. ‘And I see faces that I have seen during battles.’ he went on, nodding his own head at the memories. ‘Battles to retake Winterfell, to destroy the Night King and during the Great War.’ Some heads nodded at the words as well, minor lords and common folk were more forgivable than the High Lords and noblemen, Sansa knew it wasn’t only due to their ethics but also their goals and ambitions within a royal court. ‘The North Remembers me as Jon Snow, and I remember that name as well, along the battles we fought together, along my love for the North that once was my home.’ Jon added and Sansa saw glances exchanged, searching her own reaction, she held her icy mask on, betraying nothing.

‘The North that is Independent thanks to Queen Sansa.’ Jon added and only then, the two turned fully towards each other, eyes locked, communicating without a word as “ayes” and generally accepting sounds echoed around the Hall. ‘After three hundred years of foreign rule, the North is free again and will remain so, prosperous and happy.’ Jon finally turned and looked at the people who had started showing their agreement with shouts and bangs on the tables. Realisation that he wouldn’t claim the North through his Targaryen name nor his Stark lineage spread across the chamber, along with relief. No one wanted a civil war between the Red Wolf and the Dragon King. However, no one so far realised he would have the North in another way, painless, bloodless, through a union of love and respect.

‘I stand here a guest to Queen Sansa’s hospitality, in my maternal family’s home, ready to break bread with you and I’m here to express -as King of the Seven Kingdoms- my gratitude to the North who stood between Darkness and the rest of Westeros. If it hadn’t been for all of you, we wouldn’t be here tonight.’ Jon added finally, Sansa could see he was winning the people around him although some remained frowning at the practiced -though true- words. ‘To the North, to Queen Sansa the Loved and her Heir Rickard of House Stark!’ Jon used the name the people had given her, the cheering was loud as he mentioned Rickard too and the House he belonged to although her animosity with House Baratheon.

‘To Peace and Prosperity between the Seven Kingdoms and the Independent North!’ he finally called out confidently and was met with a commotion from the people. Sansa could see some of the Lords around her were almost forced to raise their cups, maybe even disappointed that Jon wasn’t there as a threat, where they would have been able to openly oppose him. It was clear, as a guest, a cousin, and maybe their suspicion as something more -so much more- if they went against Jon, they were going against a Queen beloved, a Queen they had pledged to. Sansa noticed their discomfort as they were watched from the people around the Hall, their own bannermen expectant. She knew there would be a council soon and there, while they wouldn’t be in open view, they would defy her choices. Sansa also noticed Kinvara’s smiling eyes above her own cup from across the Hall, she was too; calculating her enemies and friends. Sansa felt the need to protect and condemn the Lords at the same time. In the North, the Lords spoke their minds and she hadn’t silenced anyone, only ruled justly and spoke her own mind too, exposing her swaying Lords for their true motives. That had nothing to do however with their safety from red women with magic in their lips and motives driven by religious fanaticism.

The Hall was filled with the noise of celebration as Sansa and Jon drank from their cups and Sansa addressed the people around her once again.

‘In celebration of the good Summer days to come, we’ll mark the occasion as you all know with the Tournament of Ice and Fire, the first of its kind since the North became an independent Kingdom. In the next days, guests will fill our keeps and we’ll welcome them under Northern Hospitality, trading deals and betrothals will take place… Fighters will prove their worth and ale and beer will run like rivers in our veins!’ Sansa’s final words had the people erupt in celebration, she knew how to win the favor of her people. She laughed to herself, taken by the energy of the room, unable to worry over her strongest Lords who were still grumbling and drinking their ale in mouthfuls to shove down the bile raised in their throats. She enjoyed her own good ale, as she smiled at Jon who although seemingly satisfied at the reception they had achieved from most of the people, the flicker of worry and concern was still present in the darkness of his eyes. Something had happened and she didn’t know what.

Sansa’s hand shot out to catch the large jar on her nightstand but she wasn’t swift enough. The bile rose to her mouth before she could smother it with the paste in the jar for her morning sickness. Her other hand however was fast enough on bringing the pot just in time to throw up and in it. She heaved, shutting her eyes at the sight of the previous night’s ale and dinner. A pained expression crossed her face as she laid eyes on the untouched jar, next to the small vial that always remained in her proximity. She needed to be faster if she wished to hide her morning nausea, otherwise word would spread of the Queen’s possible illness.

She opened the jar and inhaled the jar’s crushed herbs, they would supposedly help but she felt another wave of sickness approaching. Sansa sat up quickly, forcing herself to smother her stomach’s revolution. She stood and took a deep breath, pouring water in a cup by her bed, taking sips slowly, her hand unconsciously going to her middle, cuddling the swell there.

The Tournament was approaching, before that, during the council, she and Jon would announce their union and betrothal. There was no other other way nor time despite the lack of plans on technicalities. She was ruling the North while he ruled the Seven Kingdoms, War was brewing in the South, possibly more foes were coming from Essos as well, armies, ships, savage men ready to avenge the tyrant that turned them into fighters. There was no position of power for Jon and Sansa to settle and rule over their Kingdoms. Winterfell was too far for Jon, Manfrey was plotting against his King and said King would need days even on dragonback to reach his capital. King’s Landing was a place Sansa was done visiting, she had done it twice after her escape, forced in both cases by duty, she could never move there by choice nor birth her child in the place so many men of her family had suffered. No, men of her family didn’t do well in that capital.

Sansa threw her head back, fighting the bile resurfacing and the tears appearing. Gods, she needed to get a grip. Pregnant women had mood swings, she knew, she remembered how her Lady Mother had screamed at the slightest annoyance while she was with Rickon. But now it wasn’t trivial annoyances that troubled Sansa’s sensitive mood, it was her child’s future, along hers and Jon’s, along the continent’s.

She set the glass down and gazed outside the window, the sun was barely over the horizon. That meant the castle still slept peacefully, the previous night’s festivities would keep everyone a little longer in their beds. She could sneak into Jon’s chambers, risk of dishonour meant nothing to her, she had plenty of it from the past, yet her child had to be protected.

Her child, her hand tightened at the swell over her shift, Jon’s child, theirs.

Another child’s annoyed voice snapped her out of her stupor and Sansa was quickly leaving the cup of water on a table as she reached the doors to her solar. Of course, Rickard had won the battle and was sleeping within her quarters, she had almost forgot through the exhaustion of the previous day.

If the form hovering over Rickard’s bed hadn’t been so familiar, the Queen in the North would have screamed at the sight of the black leather-clad person over her nephew. If it wasn’t for the raven black hair and the familiar silhouette, Sansa would have screamed for her guards, _at_ her guards for being fooled once again from someone approaching her. But the person before her wasn’t just someone, she was no one if she wished to be.

Instead, Sansa held her breath, her lungs screamed at the sudden halt of their function. Her eyes pinned at the back of the woman’s bowed head over the child’s bed. She waited, the two always needing time to adjust in each other’s presence.

‘He sleeps like a bull,’ Arya’s light comment, barely above a whisper had Sansa finally move forward, towards the bed of her nephew and his mother. She stood next to her sister and looked down at the still sleeping boy. Arya had probably touched him, Rickard always complained in his sleep when touched on the cheeks or the hands, ticklish and easily irritated.

‘Yet, he complains and protests even in his sleep, I wonder from whom he took….’ Sansa’s soft voice had Arya chuckle and finally turn and look at her sister. Sansa did the same, her eyes moving from her precious nephew to Arya. Searching the truths she needed to have, craving the good news as she faced her. Arya’s neck was scarred, badly, deeply, maybe even worse than Sana’s, but the skin had healed and there was no sign of decay. ‘Arya…’ her sister’s name came to her lips on its own accord, solidifying the truth of her sister’s return. The two hugged each other tightly a moment later, colliding, fitting in each other’s arms, made by the same parents, the last of the Starks. Sansa couldn’t help tears anew stinging her eyes, she couldn’t help but tighten her hands around Arya who only held her back as tightly. ‘You’re back…’ Sansa confirmed and felt Arya nodding her head. ‘How?’ she whispered the question in disbelief, addressing her health.

‘In the West, there are wondrous creatures, like Dragons and Direwolves… let's say the tears of a magical being helped a lot.’ Arya was swift to explain and Sansa knew they would speak over details another time, for now, she could almost feel Arya’s next words.

‘The return of a Dragon reached all the ends of the world… I was in one of them… I didn’t know his motives; however. I had to return and make sure of them.’ Arya’s words were to the point, explaining all Sansa needed to know without detail in worry of waking Rickard. ‘Even if I hadn’t found a cure I would return to defend you and Rickard.’ she added and Sansa finally broke the hug barely, just to look down at Arya and smile at her.

‘He’s not a threat, Arya, I swear.’ Sansa tried to persuade her sister, she needed allies in this battle. She needed the Nightslayer by her side in the upcoming council, she needed her family with her. Arya was her family, the closest she had from the remaining Starks. Jon was a dragon after all, their child would be too, but she and Arya were the last remaining Starks and even if they had reached extremes, they had made Rickard a wolf as well, to continue the legacy of House Stark. Arya nodded her head, looking Sansa up and down, Sansa would swear, for a fleet moment, Arya paused at Sansa’s stomach.

‘I know,’ Arya reassured Sansa. ‘He confessed last night, while I pressed Needle against his kidney.’ Arya offered easily and Sansa’s eyes widened in shock. Now she realised why Jon had seemed so awkward and distant before and during the feast apart from the fact of him facing the North. Arya and Jon always had a deep bond, he had obviously been told -or threatened- to keep Arya’s return a secret for a night more. Sansa deserved to meet with her sister directly and Arya had lurked until she had the answers she needed.

‘Don’t worry, I know he’s here with you.’ Arya added as she had probably noticed her sister’s worry and shock. Sansa fought the urge to speak to her, pour out all the reasons for her choices and actions of the past months. From threatening Jon she would throw herself from the Keep’s highest tower to expecting his child. But Arya seemed accepting with whatever she had already forced out of Jon or had learnt herself while under disguise. She seemed calmed, happy, _content_. Sansa wasn’t sure she had seen her sister like that before. The last time they had been in each other’s arms, a newborn was in Sansa’s hands and Arya was rotting alive while they were bidding their farewells.

‘And I know he’s not a threat, I know he won’t take the North from you, from us.’ Arya’s words were calm, only then glancing at her sleeping son. Sansa nodded, relief and unease rising within her as she realised the day she would have to introduce Rickard to his own mother had arrived, along the day she would take her rightful place in Rickard’s life: as his aunt instead of the woman who had raised him and had the first say for him.

‘Even if he wanted to, he couldn't.’ Sansa’s words were calm despite the turmoil boiling within her. ‘I had promised him I would abdicate if my people chose him over me. But’s he’s smart, he knows when to fight and he knows this would have been a losing battle.’ Sansa added and Arya nodded, looking deep into her sister’s eyes.

‘Then why all this journey to the North, Sansa?’ Arya asked and Sansa wasn’t sure if her sister already had the answer or simply wanted Sansa’s side of the story.

‘Because he had to see it with his own eyes. He had to explain what happened with Daenerys Targaryen during the wars.’ Sansa’s words were simple, though tired. ‘Otherwise the North would never let me, forgive me for loving him…’ Sansa’s words trailed off for a moment. ‘He’s a changed man, Arya…’ Sansa added weakly and Arya this time nodded.

‘Of that I am sure.’ Arya confirmed thoughtfully, Sansa nodded her head. ‘Clever plan, now what?’ Arya asked quickly after, inquiring solutions, her voice however remained soft. Sansa shook her head, wishing her sister could understand the real story behind the rumours that could have spread from port to cities and villages on her way from the reaches of the world to Winterfell.

‘When he landed in the Dragonpit… I believed he was there to avenge himself for all the betrayals he had suffered. As his dragon roared before Ghost, I had felt like the worst thief… In my desperation to save him I had betrayed my oath to him, I hadn’t tried hard enough at the Great Council, content that he’d at least be exiled in my dominion… But as he landed before me…’ Sansa whispered, the memories of those few moons back rushing inside her mind, along all the unresolved feelings she had harboured for so long. ‘I even had his direwolf and he was a man changed, a man who wanted it all…’ Sansa finally took a deep breath. ‘And he got it all…’ Sansa concluded, not sure if she should speak of the baby inside her belly, of how the North would be Jon’s through her and the Seven Kingdoms hers through Jon.

_‘‘One day, your husband will sit there and you by his side.’’_

‘He… I cared… and I watched him go, again and again. But he returned and despite his change, despite the dragon, despite it all… he came back and I’m his priority… always was, only I didn’t know.’ Sansa pondered softly, Arya only listened. ‘He stood by me, we’re still working on communicating without driving each other mad… but we’re making progress. I’m sure word reached you, he even saved me at the Twins.’ Sansa added and saw the regret, the remorse in Arya’s eyes. She had been in Winterfell long enough.

‘How you’re planning to do it?’ Arya asked softly then, knowing that if it hadn’t been for Jon, Sansa could have lost her life, because of her past unfinished deeds. Sansa had bled again and again for the mistakes of her House.

‘We’ll announce it before the Tournament, at the council, where I need you with me.’ Sansa simply replied, there was no time and even if Arya didn’t know about the baby, she certainly understood the turmoil a union of a Stark and a Targaryen could cause.

‘There must always be a Stark in Winterfell…’ Arya only said, her eyes looking pointedly, challenging at Sansa. Sansa nodded, she had done more than her fair share of sacrifice for their home, for their family after all.

‘And there will always be,’ Sansa added in the same way, glancing between her sister and her nephew, no one would take the right of the boy to rule the North, not even the child inside her womb. ‘No one is replacing Rickard, I have made sure of that, he’s the Heir apparent, like you were before him. The son of the Nightslayer, my nephew and appointed heir and I would never-’

‘I know that,’ Arya interrupted Sansa to reassure her. ‘I knew to whom I was bringing my son to, to be protected and raised. Even if back then, I believed it was a slim chance of you to have a babe of your own, I knew, even if you had children one day, you’d keep Rickard save and honoured.’ Arya’s eyes this time moved to Sansa’s belly pointedly, knowing. Sansa felt a surge of relief sweeping through her entire body at her sister’s return, and acceptance. A few years ago, it was Sansa herself who had shielded a pregnant Arya, faced the world to protect her and the child that was to come, now Sansa knew Arya would do the same if not more for her and Jon’s child.

Rickard squirmed in his sleep as Sansa pondered on his place in the world, along the place her own child would occupy. Soon, both Arya and Sansa would stand as mothers to their offspring, somehow, through and despite it all, the Tully blood of their mother’s would run through the Heirs of the Stark sisters, along Baratheon and Targaryen blood.

‘Gendry has answered the open invitation for the Tournament… He’s coming to meet his son…’ Sansa announced the news she had received last night before the feast, it had been one of the reasons she had allowed Rickard to sleep in her solar. Sansa had dreaded the day that would happen. Gendry was coming in a time when the balance could shift for Sansa. The Lords had taken a lot of persuasion to accept Rickard as the Heir to the Northern Throne, Sansa had used all the arguments she had back then. Now, the Lord of the Stormlands would lay claim on his son again at the same time the Queen would announce her betrothal to a Targaryen. She could only hope all this wouldn’t strain her alliances and pledged bannermen.

‘Will you stay?’ Sansa added as she looked back at Arya who smiled in spite of the rueful look that had spread over her features at the news of Gendry approaching. Somehow, Sansa always found a way to reach the same page with her sister. They had to be a united front, despite the men in their lives and the trouble tailing them.

‘Will you go?’ Arya asked in the same way, she probably knew sooner or later, choices would have to be made, changes too. Sansa hadn’t had the time to answer as Rickard stretched and opened his eyes, waking up and searching the room around him. Sansa was feeling the lingering question deep in her bones as she reached for her nephew. Of course Arya knew, she had returned and she had revealed herself only after she was certain of her family’s friends and foes. Yes, Arya was a valuable ally, the executioner to Sansa’s judge, her sister, the mother of the future King in the North.

‘Aunta?’ Rickard asked sleepily, his hands shooting up to Sansa, his eyes searching Arya’s dumbfounded expression. Sansa smiled and sat on the bed, she had to consider her movements when lifting weight, the Maester had warned her the first five moons were the most dangerous for her own babe. Rickard climbed onto Sansa’s lap and looked at Arya who had remained awkwardly unmoving before the image of Sansa with the young boy in her embrace.

‘Good morning, my love,’ Sansa whispered smiling, kissing his temple, her eyes searching Rickard’s reaction as he studied Arya before he could turn his dark eyes on his aunt, the only familiar face he had around him.

‘She looks like me, like uncle Aegon,’ Rickard noticed and Sansa heard Arya’s long exhale. She nodded chuckling, knowing Arya wouldn’t find a way to introduce herself to her son for the life of her. She could kill and slaughter, she could destroy houses, rip out her enemies, but family relations? That was Sansa’s work, she was the thread who always bound everyone together, still did. Sansa preferred to do the honours herself, she knew Rickard better than anyone else after all.

‘She does, my sweetling,’ Sansa confirmed for the second time in a matter of days. Funny how she looked different from all the Starks around her due to her Tully looks. ‘She has your nose, actually; you have her nose, and her eyes, her cheekbones… and her hair of course.’ Sansa replied, allowing the boy to notice the details, Arya too. Rickard nodded to himself, stil sleepily rubbing his eyes as he settled against Sansa’s chest, he addressed Arya.

‘Who are you?’ he asked simply and Sansa saw the panic flickered in Arya’s eyes, traveling to Sansa who nodded encouragingly before the younger Stark woman could kneel before her sister and child. Sansa felt her own breath hitching in her throat as Arya’s eyes locked with Rickard’s for a long moment before she could offer her hand for the boy to touch, hesitantly he did, they had the same fingers too.

‘My name is Arya, Rickard,’ Sansa felt the tears pooling in her eyes and she wasn’t sure she would be able to hold them back this time as Rickard’s head snapped towards Sansa’s direction above his own head, his hand still in Arya’s palm.

‘She’s Momma, my love. I had promised you, one day she would return, when she would be healthy again.’ Sansa confirmed before the boy could say a word more. He looked back at Arya in muted shock for long moments, Arya had remained as silent, waiting, expecting anything, from a tantrum to plain and unceremonious rejection.

What Arya hadn’t expected was the triumph in the boy’s eyes, his radiant smile and the shift of his weight from Sansa’s lap to her own embrace as Rickard threw his arms around her tender neck. The squeal of happiness from the boy allowing the air to reenter Sansa and Arya’s lungs. Relief swept between the sisters who nodded at each other over the young Prince’s shoulder. Sansa could see the gratefulness in Arya’s eyes and she was certain Arya could see her own relief and need for support. Sansa knew she had it and that warmed her to her bones.

‘My Momma,’ Rickard called out, pulling back to look at the shocked expression of Arya’s before he could look back at Sansa’s watery one. ‘And my Aunta,’ he added as joyfully, opening an arm to grab at Sansa, she went willingly, a tearful chuckle of happiness escaping her lips. ‘Don’t cwy, Aunta, you said when Momma comes he’e again, it’s a good day!’ Rickard scolded softly, his eyes travelling back to Arya for confirmation, maybe for making sure she was still there in the flesh. Arya nodded her head frantically as she agreed with her son.

‘Exactly, Rickard, you’re right. It’s a good day!’ Arya verified and Sansa could only shake her head and kiss the boy’s temple before she could wrap her arm around him and her own sister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the feast was a first try before the council.... these two idiots have a way with smallfolk and lordlings but how about the big heads of the North? more is coming from the South too..... as for Arya-Sansa scene, I hope you enjoyed it!!!!! I wanted just the two of them, no one around as the two have done so much for that young boy and he has been raised right damn it! always open and welcoming the people in his life... his father approaching will be a challenge for the she-wolves....
> 
> thank you so much for reading! next chapter, Jon's POV and the Northern Council! thoughts? expectations? feels? I'm here for them!


	24. Jon XII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaaaaack, my holz are still on til the 24th but I am back from my trip and my batteries are full. I wanted to make it up to you for the long wait, so this chapter is MASSIVE and I hope you will enjoy it as I'm proud of it after three days of editing and re-editing.
> 
> The Northern Council

_Chapter Twenty Four - Jon XII_

_“I will make them love me...”_

_“Let it be Fear…”_

_I will personally see to the punishment of disobedience and betrayal… You need to decide who has been proven disloyal, our spies in Essos or you Prince, my Hand…_

_I can deal with my allies the same way I deal with my enemies…. My tolerance is not a strong suit of mine...._

_Naharis and the Unsullied leaders will be the first to pay for their decision to step foot in Westeros. The Dothraki will face the same fate if they end up following the Unsullied and the Second Sons._

_Aegon Targaryen_

_King of the Andals and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm._

‘Maybe your Queen is right… Maybe you shouldn’t be so harsh with your Hand... ‘ Kinvara’s voice had Jon’s already clutching fingers around the quill to tighten further, almost snapping the quill in two. 

‘With every passing day, you become more and more useless Kinvara.’ Jon’s voice was gruff, unused for hours as he read through the lines of the letter he intended to send in King’s Landing, pausing only at the points he wanted to press the most. ‘Davos’ letter took days to reach me, yet you never saw the content of it happening, your flames are growing dim. Or your Sight is addressed elsewhere, decide which one is happening.’ he added, this time raising his eyes to drink in her discomfort and annoyance. He would share the feelings he harboured with the vipers wrapping around him. Kinvara had once been a beacon in the dark sea he had almost downed in, now she had turned into a pest festering his rule, his rise to the throne and the most dangerous part of it was her creeping around him and Sansa. 

The sorceress’ eyes narrowed at the words of her King but remained void of hostility, Jon had been right and he knew the Red Priestess had been caught hiding truths and this wasn’t the first time. Davos had a way of slipping under the attention of Red Women, he had a knack for coming clean among the ashes they left behind. 

‘It is the Lord of Light who chooses what is revealed to me.’ Kinvara’s voice was failing the confidence she usually held, her movement causing her red fabrics to swirl around her. Maybe she was honest, maybe the Northern winds were extinguishing her Sight, even so, she was growing useless indeed. Jon remained silent, watching Kinvara shifting from one foot to the other before she inhaled and moved as gracefully as her betrayal allowed. 

‘If the South wasn’t as treasonous as you are, I would have sent you there, but I need my enemies separated.’ Jon’s tone was rough, wishing to see her reaction. She didn’t fail him as Kinvara’s eyes widened in what he could only describe as feigned shock. 

‘I abandoned my home for our Cause, for our Lord’s Cause…’ her voice was desperate, Kinvara’s blue eyes betrayed her turmoil but the growing aggravation veiled the supposed guilt. 

Jon had learnt to read through monsters. Maybe he had been one when he chose to take her with him to Westeros but she had fulfilled her purpose of unifying the common folk under one faith for his rule to be easier. Soon she would have to take her own place and it would have been so convenient if her treacherous tricks pushed her to the place Jon wished for her, without causing too much trouble with the people across the Kingdoms whom she persuaded and vowed to lead to a glorified afterlife. 

‘So you didn’t know about Essos… about the Unsullied and the Dothraki…’ Jon asked to confirm, Kinvara shook her head, her eyes finally meeting his and staying there. ‘And you didn’t know about Davos’ illness or Arya’s return…’ Jon added and Kinvara took a deep breath. 

‘They’re not believers and I-’

‘I wasn’t a believer and you found me in the middle of nowhere.... Sansa isn’t a believer and you could see her throughout the years I was with you…’ Jon interrupted Kinvara, finally rising from his seat, sealing the letter before him as he kept his eyes on the Red Woman before him. The red wax drops fell thick like blood on the rolled parchment before Jon could sit the seal upon it and let it rest for the Dragon Head symbol of his banner to embe on the crimson drops. Jon’s eyes moved on the letter, a vice grip was clutching at his heart at the notion of Kinvara knowing for the baby inside Sansa’s womb. She was keeping her mouth shut about it, another betrayal, another reason for Jon wanting her out of the way. 

‘I can see now…’ Kinvara tried to Jon’s dark chuckle as a response. 

‘Now I can see too, and I know what I will do with my enemies once they form and reach one front against my Kingdoms.’ Jon countered, interrupting her once again. ‘And if you’re truthful to your words, if indeed you hadn’t seen all those betrayals coming… then maybe, our Lord is neglecting you… maybe you have deviated from His cause...in your mad pursuit of our Cause…’ Jon implied as he stood before Kinvara, watching, studying her reaction. 

He hated what he saw in the depths of her eyes. The genuine horror in those supposedly all-seeing blue orbs at his words. Maybe that was the greatest validation he had needed about her maddening fall from his grace but also from her own God’s enlightenment. What if indeed she didn’t possess the Sight anymore, what if her Lord kept her blind? What happens to a fanatic when their reason for existing suddenly devalues them? The supposed Greater Plan was shrouded in fog and madness.

He didn’t want to know the answer, not at that moment at least. The Northern council would be soon upon him, as far as he knew, Sansa would attend to her nephew and sister and then the she-wolves would meet him to reach the Council Rooms Sansa had rebuilt in the First Keep, where she truly ruled over her subjects without the commotion the Great Hall could summon within it. 

He had seen her addressing her people, her grace, her grip. He had been so proud, so fiercely proud of what she had grown up to be. He had been joyous seeing the people looking at her in the eyes and not down in forced obedience or fear, like he had seen people acting around Daenerys, even around him. He would learn to be merciful again, even if that mercy had once killed him. He would keep the dragon on a leash, next to his wolf, he wouldn’t be only feared, or respected, he would find a way back to his people’s hearts. 

He would be loved. 

The knock on the door had King and Sorceress separating further from the world that already kept them before each other. Sansa and Arya were ready. 

‘Make sure you consider my words, Kinvara. I can’t punish you for the things you haven’t seen, but you will pay for the things you have kept and you still keep from me…’ Jon added his final words of their meeting. He frowned as she nodded but made a move to follow him to the Council Rooms. He stopped before her, looking down at her with stern eyes. 

‘It is a Council between the King, the Queen and her people...You’re not allowed in, by demand of the Queen. A demand I accepted.’ Kinvara’s eyes narrowed, as Jon had expected. The council would run smoother without the Northern Lords glaring at a Red Woman lurking in the shadows around them, Sansa had been right and indeed, Jon had agreed, Kinvara wasn’t to be trusted anyway, if she indeed had powers, she would see what happened during the council. 

‘But I am your advisor!’ Kinvara’s words were fierce. Jon stopped himself from laughing at her face, he only kept his eyes on her. 

‘Are you?’ he only wondered and Kinvara glared at him. 

‘Ungrateful, seeing enemies everywhere, like your grandfather King Aerys.’ he had played the blame game before, when Daenerys was losing her mind and demanded his silence, against all his personal needs, all the truths he had to face. He had played the game before and he had won. 

‘Ungrateful? Maybe. Seeing enemies everywhere? No, only in front of me…’ Jon’s voice was calm and calculated. ‘I’m about to pay the price of building trust through pain and sacrifice with the North, only to lose it with one single blow… You’re in the same debt, Kinvara, to me, although I never truly trusted you.’ he added honestly. No surprise in her eyes there. 

They had both known, it would be a corporation, her pulling him through the fire, him letting her spread the light. Even if she attempted carnal games with him -to which he always denied her- throughout the years of their companionship, Jon wasn’t even sure if they actually liked each other, if they had made a single conversation that hadn’t been forced out of duty and destiny or motive. He didn’t care anymore, Kinvara wasn’t the only person in his life anymore. 

He excited his chambers, clad in black, hair half pulled back like he wore it while in the North, his head free from a crown. He would meet with the Lords once pledged to him, the North and his cause without symbols of power, only his word and reason. He took a deep breath as he saw Sansa and Arya exciting the Queen’s chambers, followed by Brienne. Arya was dressed in leather and breeches, as he had seen her after his return from Dragonstone, Sansa was dressed in grey, a wolf embodied on her chest like that blue dress she owned and he loved. Her hair held up in a braid twisted on the back of her head. She looked beautiful and although the corridors were full with guards, Jon couldn’t help himself but glance at her middle, still hidden, their little, precious secret. Their eyes met, knowing, understanding, bonding, Sansa smiled at him although he could see she was as tensed and worried as he was. 

He had missed her, the proximity, the nights spent by her side in beds of foreign Keeps and cots in their royal tents. The journey North had been a pilmigradge for all that he wanted, now he had to finally reach out and take all that he deserved, all that he had prayed for. 

The Stark sisters approached him and soon Sansa was in the middle with Jon to her left and Arya at her right, as atypical protocol demanded. Ghost tailed them, sniffing behind them as he escorted them all to the First Keep along the guards around them. 

If Jon could close his eyes, if he could pretend he had never gone to Dragonstone, this could be them, the royal family of the North, a North independent and happy. Yet, it would have been a North constantly threatened by mad queens and dragonfire. Cersei wouldn’t have rested with Sansa alive. Daenerys would have reached the North one way or the other, the truth of his parentage irrelevant since the Dragon Queen had considered the North hers, she would have never allowed their freedom, like Bran did, like Jon accepted. 

Everything happens for a reason, Kinvara used to chant through his turmoil and maybe she had been right. If he hadn’t bent the knee, if he hadn’t blinded Daenerys, even if briefly before she descended into madness, the North would have faced fire, maybe Sansa would have been killed along her sister and Bran, as traitors, as oathbreakers from what Torrhen Stark had pledged to the dragon dynasty. 

Yes, everything happened for a reason and Jon would have done it all again and again if it meant for Sansa to survive, for the North to be free without further bloodshed, for Arya to have Rickard, for Jon himself to have a chance in happiness with Sansa at the end. 

Without a word spoken, they passed in front of the stone wolves guarding the Crypts and with heads held high, they climbed the few stairs of the First Keep and reached the Council Rooms. The Spring day had the renovated rooms illuminated from the windows Sansa had probably asked to be wide and without curtains. The long table was crowded, some lords were already on their seats, some were pacing the room, along with ladies representing their families and keeps. They all stood in attention and then bowed for the three royals entering the rooms, accompanied by Brienne and Ghost who had eyes only for Sansa’s back. At the top of the table, there were vacant seats, the Queen’s throne and seats for her sister and her cousin. 

Jon knew very well the steel mask she wore when she had to encounter noblemen with motive. She had spoken to him in private the night before, during a quick dinner at her solar, while Arya had taken Rickard to the Godswood for some much needed bonding time. Sansa had told Jon of her plans for that day’s council and he had agreed to them all, allowing her all movement in the council, all pride and ego set aside, she knew the North better than any other at that point, she had forged it after all. She had survived the court of King’s Landing, the Eyre, she had held the North in his absence, he could only imagine how hard she had learnt the meaning of courtesy and diplomacy. He had played his own games, however, as complicated as they had been, there had been before wildlings and a conqueror, all of them blinded with their passions. Sansa encountered good players, people settled with ages old motives and she played the game for far longer than himself. He could put his faith in her and learn if he wished he could settle and rule once he was done with power plays like the ones he had to face in the South. 

He held only one dragon, probably the last one in existence, he wouldn’t be able to be everywhere all the time, he couldn’t cut down every single scheming lord in his little keep. He had to learn, he had to stop confusing compassion with foolishness and he had to extinguish when to punish and when to embrace the useful traitors. He had died for his mistakes in the past, he wouldn’t make the same mistakes again. 

Sansa reached her throne, followed by Jon and Arya who remained before their seats for everyone to go to their own chairs, when everyone had gathered around, others frowning down at the table, others looking supportive towards the Queen, Sansa finally sat down and only then, everyone followed suit. 

‘My Lords and Ladies,’ Sansa addressed everyone and looked around her, Jon did the same, asserting the situation. He was a military man but he could fight in a battle with no weapons made of steel. Jon glanced at Arya, who was also watching the noblemen, her own expression of judging unconcealed as she looked at the known sources of trouble almost in distaste. ‘I have assembled this council today, because I want you all to welcome King Aegon and our kingdom’s peace treaty with the Seven Kingdoms along with all the trade deals and pacts I hope you will establish in the coming days, during the Tournament of Ice and Fire. And of course to know of Princess Arya’s return, along with some announcements I have to make for the future of the North.’ Sansa’s voice was firm, nodding at the welcoming stares, holding her chin up while looking at Lord Manderly who shook his head and threw his gloves on the table, next to Lord Glover who simply grumbled at the words of the Queen. 

‘So, my Queen, we’re _summoned_ here instead of the Great Hall, where our bannermen can also listen to whatever is to be announced to us so we can agree and go our merry way?’ Lord Glover was the first to object at the words. Sansa remained unsurprised at the outburst, she stared down at him from across the table but the answer came from Arya, to many people’s surprise. 

‘You’re _invited_ here today, Lord Glover, because my sister and Queen believe only the highest ranking lords should be properly addressed and informed first and foremost. If you consider yourself anything less, by all means, please stand up, open the door and exit the rooms.’ Arya’s words were cutting and Jon would swear, she had probably been informed for the front the lords had raised against Sansa over Rickard’s legitimacy and position as Heir Apparent in the past. He couldn’t blame the woman he considered his sister for her biting words now, he was certain she had more in store for all of them. Arya had stopped being the little girl he had bid farewell a lifetime ago while leaving Winterfell, the tingle at his kidney -where her blade had threatened to pierce through- proved him she had grown into a woman, a mother who was as fierce as the force of nature when it came to her family. 

Like Sansa, she did what honor demanded, only she had always done it in corporation with Sansa. Jon intended to do the same now, no matter what. 

‘Lady Arya…’ Glover tried through a grumble but eventually trailed off as Sansa hadn’t uttered a single word yet about what she would announce. 

‘Your Grace, please do tell us,’ Cley Cerwyn tried this time, his own eyes glancing at Jon as well. Sansa remained silent for a moment more, her own sea-blue eyes looking at the lords around her, making them wait and evaluate the reactions themselves. Jon wished he could see through her head, how and what she thought of the situation. 

‘My Lords and Ladies…’ Sansa finally restarted. ‘For years, most of you have expressed your concerns and proposals over the future of the North through my hearth and family. Those concerns were taken at heart,’ Sansa’s words were emotionless, a deadpan, by her way, Jon could understand, that very room had been filled with pressing proposals and the Queen’s aversions of the matter. Jon wondered, with a boiling fire in the pit of his stomach, how many times had these Lords shouted at her about marriage and duty when she had suffered because of both? That old, scalding guilt of him not being there to protect her from all hardship was coming in waves and he fought the urge to act upon it. ‘For that, I made sure a male with Stark blood will rule the North, after me.’ Sansa added and looked at Arya who inclined her head, her eyes searching for the person who would still have a problem with her only son, she found none. ‘I know you cherish me, I know you’re faithful and even when we don’t agree on everything, you show your objections with the North in your best interest, believe me I do the same.’ Sansa added, this time looking at Jon for a moment before she could turn her gaze again. 

‘I have decided that when Prince Rickard reaches his seventeenth birthday, I will abdicate for him to take the Northern Crown and that decision will not change no matter what the future will hold for me.’ Sansa announced, finally setting the date the first Queen in the North’s history would step down for her nephew to follow in line, no matter any children born from her. The North had to be secured along Rickard, even after many moons, he had finally been accepted and loved, the young boy would grow to be a good King and Jon was certain, his established rule only ensured Arya and Sansa’s plan to keep Rickard in the North as Gendry closed in and would arrive any day now. 

The news seemed to please most of the Lords, however, some remained frowned, in their imagination, for years, a child made by Sansa and one of their sons would be put in front of Rickard and become King or Queen in the North. Sansa had just stepped on their plans, she was about to step on more. 

‘I believe that puts your minds at ease over the future of the North and House Stark to which you all have pledged your swords and lives to…’ Sansa added, using her weapons for the rest of the announcements. ‘Especially after the shift in power we all suffered while the Boltons ruled those lands from this very castle.’ Sansa added and Jon glanced at her, she was calm, expressionless as she recalled the occupation she suffered in, the most. 

‘And as Queen in the North, my never ending duties include the Heir I have established for all of us but also a union strong enough through marriage to keep the peace and prosperity of the Land Rickard is to inherit when he will be of age.’ Sansa added and the atmosphere around the room changed, charged with anticipation as everyone hung from her next words. 

‘Under my rule, I have ensured unions among Northern houses to happen and continue to, for the North to become strong after the wars. I have taken care of your sons and daughters, legitimate and not. And now I wish to secure the North towards the rest of the world through my union with my cousin and King of the Seven Kingdoms.’ Sansa didn’t leave a second for the objections to interrupt her. ‘Aegon and I are here today to announce our betrothal.’ Sansa’s words brought the expected result. Lord Manderly’s anger and Lord Glover’s exasperation were evident as they huffed and shook their heads, a couple more Lords seemed displeased too but Jon couldn’t name them even if he tried. 

‘My Queen… he’s a Targaryen…’ King Aegon’s base is in the South and-’ Lord Manderly tried this time, clearly disappointed with whatever plans he had for his House and House Stark, although Jon remembered he had only granddaughters to follow him after his son, Jon wondered if he had fathered more children in the past years. 

‘He’s a Stark too, as much as Rickard is through his mother, as much a Tully I am through my own.’ Sansa reminded everyone but Lord Glover didn’t seem interested in blood relations at the moment as he took the chance to object again. 

‘He betrayed the North, he bent the knee to another Targaryen, his own aunt, he went South times and times again until he never came back!’ Glover was furious while Sansa remained silent to look at him. Jon knew it was time for him to speak and face them all, he had expected the anger, but now, as he faced the Lords he once chose to let down, he also detected the hurt towards their faith to an honourable choice that had failed. 

‘And I am here now, as a royal guest and only, not demanding anything from the North-’

‘You’re _marrying_ our Queen, dragonking!’ Glover countered back, all courtesy forgotten. Jon chose not to scowl, keeping his temper even to his own surprise. 

‘I do, because I valued her more than my life while I believed she was my sister.’ Jon countered as calmly as he could, as patient as he could. ‘I fought for her to take down the Boltons, I left the North in her hands, before all of you, because indeed, I had to go South, and persuade a dragonrider of not one but three dragons that we needed to fight for the good of mankind, and I did’ Jon’s voice was raised but not to the point of shouting, he struggled with explaining the truth that mattered to them, keeping out the facts of loving Sansa even when he considered her a sister. ‘I came back, not a King anymore but still, you stood by House Stark’s side because you knew I was right and because Queen Sansa had held you united, you did what honour demanded. When the rest of the Kingdoms were being savaged in war and civil conflict. You stood proud and honourable and fought the Night while the Dornish killed each other, while the Tyrells and Lannisters tore at each other to the last child and when we were done with the Night, I took the Dragons South, away from all of you.’ Jon reminded everyone, his eyes however remained on Lord Glover.

‘And I had intended on staying there, keeping the Dragon Queen as far away as possible from all of you, my home.’ Jon’s voice had everyone halting, finally listening to his side of the story that had unfolded years ago. Some might have heard out of duty to his current status, others out of curiosity as their minds were set on their currently lost goals, but Jon could see, many of the Lords around him listened in true interest on what actually happened that led to Sansa returning alone but with independence in her hands. 

‘You speak of honour but how exactly you lured Daenerys Targaryen North, in the first place?’ Lord Glover spat back, raising from his seat and looking around him at the Lords and Ladies who glanced between him and Jon nervously, while Sansa remained stoic, obviously expecting the outburst. ‘How did you keep her here and then took the Dragon South?... How had you intended on keeping her in King’s Landing after the wars?’ Lord Glover bombarded the room with the questions that implied what Sansa had once asked Jon in private, within one single sentence. 

_“Did you bend the knee to save the North, or because you love her?”_

‘Lord Glover-’ Arya tried, always defending Jon before others, her pack. 

‘No, it is alright,’ Jon interrupted his sister, remaining on his seat as he addressed the man before him. 

‘You had once told me of your brother following Robb Stark into war, hailing him King in the North.’ Jon recalled the day he and Sansa had been refused by that same man in their struggle to join forces against the Boltons. With the corner of his eyes he saw the momentary melting of Sansa’s mask at the mention, glancing up at him, her lips parting slightly. ‘And you had reminded your current Queen that Robb got himself and the people who followed him killed… after taking for bride a Southerner…’ Jon decided not to quote every ill word, not out of respect for the man standing before him, but the memory of that butchered pregnant woman Robb had married and loved till the end. 

‘I left for the South on my own and a couple of advisors back then, while you remained safe and warm in your Keeps, as I had hoped for you to do, after all… Not a single drop of Northern blood fell for my bringing the most powerful armies and dragons to fight for our survival… Only my honour twisted, yes, by my actions, by all of you who chose to see the means to end and not the fact of your survival and I accepted everything because I once valued honour as much as you did. But I died for my honour and ever since I came back, I valued life itself more than honour.’ Jon added, confirming what had been a myth across the North over him taking a knife to the heart and surviving. 

‘If that is a crime without forgiveness so be it, but consider where we would be if the Night had swallowed us all. Consider what would have happened if I hadn’t placated and drove the Dragon Queen where I wanted her to go, along her armies and dragons.’ Jon’s words had the people drowned in silence. Everyone knew, had probably seen his dangerous and failing game back then, he didn’t need to admit anything. Would they have laid with enemies of their own, all those Lords who now sat fed and happy on their seats, if it was for their families to survive the war, for the end of a tyranny that promised fire and blood?

‘You’re right to be afraid of my newly acclaimed name. Daenerys Targaryen was exactly like her father. She had parroted all the time she wasn’t like him but at the end, she was exactly that.’ Jon added without someone else pointing out on the Targaryen dynasty, they would soon know of another Targaryen on the way. ‘During war, atrocities happen and I stopped the Northern armies, your very bannermen through the chaos, some of you were there, by my side. I stopped you from fighting through a savaged city, from avenging old monstrosities, committing new ones, we entered King’s Landing only after Daenerys had leveled the entrance of it, minimising casualties from our side... I called everyone back, disobeying a woman with a dragon and her armies... I killed her because I knew Winterfell and the North would burn first, proud and free at heart, loving Queen Sansa for who she is, loving even me. Daenerys Targaryen had seen the bond Sansa and I had with our people and she envied, hated it. She rained fire on the capital of Westeros, she would do it again and again, as she had said herself, from Winterfell to the Jade Sea and from Casterly Rock to Qarth. So I stopped her, I killed her and took the punishment for it.’ Jon’s words were paused for him to take a deep breath. 

‘You knew and trusted me with the North when I was a Snow. Now I ask you to believe in me again, I’m a Targaryen as much as I am a Stark, my dragon will ensure peace instead of destruction, it will defend the people instead of threaten them, under my command.’ Jon added, watching for the reactions around him, there was a slight shift. ‘And Queen Sansa and I will ensure the Kingdoms will be protected, like we once protected the North together.’ Jon this time looked at Sansa and reached for her hand in a bold move, answered as Sansa released the fist her hands created, concealing her belly and reached for his hand, their fingers intertwined. 

‘Word has it, through merchants and travellers in my port, that there are rising armies against you and your peaceful rule, my Lord…’ Manderly’s temper wasn’t as fierce as Glover’s but he had his own weapons. Of course White Harbour would have word over what was happening in the east. There was a veil of murmurs across the table, worry and anger rising along fear and uncertainty. 

‘So this I address to my dear Queen,’ Mandrey’s gaze travelled to Sansa, for a moment stopping at the joined hands of the King and Queen. ‘Is this betrothal a way for the Northern Armies to fight once again for a war that has nothing to do with the North’s interest, like the Great War? Because even if we fought the Night without Cersei’s armies, even if we fed savages and eunuchs and two large dragons… our fight was over the moment Princess Arya killed the Night King… We fought the Great War only because House Stark had pledged to House Targaryen, so… have you pledged us, your people, to another Targaryen again?’ Manderly’s careful words had the table murmurs turn into disagreeing exclamations. Sansa this time spoke before Jon could, taking matter into her own hands. 

‘The Ironborn once reached the North, brutalised most of you, then Stannis… then the Boltons, then a Dragon Queen, the North isn’t unreachable. And the Northmen fought valiantly, but no, even if a war South would disturb our interests, our trade lines and allies, no, you can sleep peacefully in your beds. No northern sword will rise even if it would be within my rights as Queen to command them and you to yield them. My betrothal to King Aegon is a union signaling a new era of peace, not destruction.’ Sansa finally reassured them and Jon continued from there. 

‘And there will be no war, of that _I_ assure you, for I will take care of my enemies without armies, Southern or Northern taking part and bleeding in this.’ Jon announced curtly. ‘It is a fight that has to do with me, my return from exile, from people that once followed the Queen _I_ killed and I will protect Westeros from them. I have broken vows over doing what I believed that was right, I have killed the King beyond the Wall, the Queen of Westeros… I have fought again and again and in most cases, the North was my motive, now it is the entirety of Westeros and I will fight for it.’ Jon’s words -oddly even to his own eyes- seemed to have that old effect of trust from most of the people. Maybe it was a reflex of the people, or that age old familiar feeling but the men and women around him seemed calmer, believing him, their motives and reasons slightly lowered shields, revealing them for what they were. 

‘So what is the reaction you wish to have from us, my Queen?’ Lord Glover asked through gritted teeth, seeing with his own eyes how the people around the room seemed to accept Jon’s words. 

‘Forgiveness, acceptance, you name it.’ Arya spoke for her sister again. ‘Name the action if you cannot, try to remember how you were accepted and forgiven by Jon here when you didn’t answer the call to fight against the Boltons and he forgave you, try to remember how Sansa accepted and kept you in power after turning a blind eye to the Bolton rule, in the first place.’ Arya’s words were more cutting than Jon’s, causing many to look down, they certainly hadn’t expected Arya to be back, the news had spread across the Keep like wildfire and most were happy for her return as she was beloved, a card played well by the Queen to win the hearts of the people as Arya always demanded from people to act upon their good honour. 

They had to be quick with everything, Jon knew, they had to move before it was too late. The baby would remain a secret for that day. Maester Wolkan would cook the days and weeks, premature he or she would be announced when born. Yet, the awareness of trouble in the South could help in one thing in the North, without growing suspicion for the Queen’s condition. 

‘Since King Aegon is to go South soon, to fight for his kingdoms, maybe even for the North, if the old armies of Daenerys Targaryen wish to destroy me for standing against her until the last day, if not beyond it… I’m sure Grey Worm still remembers my threats to his face during the Great Council…’ Sansa’s words had the people realising they would win a war without even participating in it, they would be protected by the man they felt so much distrust, like always. 

‘My betrothal with King Aegon will be very short, as we wish to marry once the Tournament is over.’ Sansa’s words were met with Glover’s gruff mutterings and this time Sansa finally showed signs of annoyance at his constant reaction. ‘That way, if King Aegon dies in battle, of the immediate or distant future, the South will be secured as well, with me as the Queen of it, I’m already the Lady of Harrenhal, any of our children will be the Kingdoms’ rulers.’ Sansa finished her words but before she could address details, Lord Glover and Manderly this time were reacting, along Lord Harclay, about it all. 

‘You are the Queen in the North and no other kingdo-’

‘I need no lesson on my duties, Lord Manderly-’

‘My Queen, this is utterly inappropriate, your children should have claim in the North,’ 

‘The North is secure under Rickard Stark’s rule in the future, until then you all answer to me and-’

‘Your Grace, we accepted your decisions,’ Glover’s voice was raised among the rest, shrouding every dispute. ‘Your _contemporary_ laws on bastardy and women…’ the words poured from his mouth sounded bitter, at last reacting not only to current but also old changes. 

‘We accepted your nephew, based on those laws that you invented and we said nothing on his lack of father,’ Glover went on, frowning at the memory, verifying and infuriating Jon over the past attitudes he was certain that had taken place, within that very room. ‘Or lack of mother for that matter,’ Glover added, scowling at Arya. ‘We agreed upon your rebuilding of keeps destroyed, Lord Manderly even funded your plans for Moat Cailin and the Snow Castle, we accepted your displeasure on the prospect of marriage, always keeping in mind what you had suffered under your marriage with the imp and during your marriage with that mad dog, Ramsay Bolton.’ Lord Glover added and Jon gritted his teeth in his effort not to speak up. 

‘But all this is beyond the line and the pace of those changes can only be seen as suspicious…’ the old man’s glare towards Sansa’s body was unmistakable. ‘You left for the South as the Queen in the North to bury your little brother, we learnt of you being held in King’s Landing by the dragon. Moons later, you come back with a new Targaryen -as the Gods seem not to forget about their lot- and the same dragon that levelled King’s Landing with him, even held at a distance, the Lady of Harrenhal, named by him and ready to get married to him.’ Lord Glover countered everything that had happened, in his tone, as a person outside it all, the course of the events sounded ugly, maybe they had been, Jon wouldn’t admit.

‘Is this history repeating itself?; Lord Glover asked, looking around him, probably playing his final card that would have Jon erupt, he was certain. ‘Like your brother Robb, you follow a Southerner?’ he spat the first option. ‘Like your cousin here, you lure him to some scheme so you can take the South for your own?’ Lord Glover turned towards Jon who wished he had taken Longclaw with him. Brienne was already frowning, gripping at her own sword as the insults slipped from the man’s mouth like poison towards the Queen. ‘Or you are simply fooled by a Targaryen, like Lyanna Stark once was… Maybe it runs in the family.’ he added and this time Jon shot up and pushed his chair aside to surge, Ghost barked and showed his teeth as he moved close to Sansa and faced the noblemen around him. 

‘For your insults towards your Queen and my mother, I should have your tongue ripped out.’ Jon could hear his words, along the blood pumping through his veins as Sansa held at his hand, still sitting on her throne, struggling to remain calm, keeping him from advancing. He had been made some peace with his parentage, with the way his parents had made the kingdoms bleed. But using a dead woman’s memory to attack Sansa was invalid and insulting.

‘You should be ashamed,’ Cley Cerwyn shouted, rising from his own seat, along Sansa’s Commander, Edgar Hornwood who actually drew his sword and waited for Sansa’s command, Brienne mirrored him. The Northern councils were easily turned into a physical fight, they certainly had during Robb’s brief and untimely rule, but they would stop during Sansa’s command.

‘Lord Glover-’ Arya was ready but the old man seemed unable to accept reason nor explanation, he pressed on. 

‘Are you already with child, Queen Sansa?’ Glover pressed on, spilling the truth out to be countered with lies or accepted with the dangerous truth. ‘Another Targaryen is already on the way?’ he used the dynasty’s name as a weapon. ‘Are you trying to conceal it with a quick marriage like Robb did?’ the words had Jon finally erupting, unable to stop himself while Sansa remained frozen. This would have been the council of his wrongdoings, of his mistakes, not Sansa’s trial over her life and choices, the baby was not planned but their child wasn’t a mistake, it wasn’t a wrongdoing and Jon would allow no petty Lord to insult Sansa thus. 

‘What if she is?’ Jon’s stomach dropped an instant too late, the words slipped from his mouth but he didn’t back down although he was half confirming the truth. Sansa’s hand tightened painfully around his, yet he couldn’t stop. Armies, dragons, the Gods wouldn’t have been able to stop him ‘Is she not a good Queen to you? Or you expected that sooner or later she would take your son as her consort?’ Jon spat the questions, demanding answers. ‘You have been waiting a long time for it, haven’t you?’ Jon’s voice was a dark growl, possessive and angry, fierce as he was pushing through every protocol of proprietary over his need to protect Sansa. Old and new wounds were reopening, festered with failed honour and pressure, games the Northerners had been above of, once. Glover smiled in triumph at Jon’s surge but he sobered the moment Sansa stood up silently, looking at the people who had spiralled into almost armoured conflict. Jon knew he had stepped her lines of courtesy and diplomacy, he knew he had burged in her way of ruling like he had burged in the dragon pit, moons back, shattering every fine balance she had achieved, but he had only wanted to protect, shield her from the old world that struggled as it died for the new one to be born.

‘Lord Glover, I had once reminded you of your pledge to House Stark…’ Sansa’s voice was gravely low, she hadn’t dodged one single blow, she had simply suffered them all, maybe like she always did during her ruling time for the past years. ‘Back then, it had been just you, King Aegon and myself, when you had spat in our faces that House Stark was dead…’ Sansa’s words had the man shrinking back in his seat despite his massive build under not only Sansa’s stare but of many noblemen too as the memory was recovered, he knew he had spoken treason in her face back then. ‘Yet, look at us now, I’m truly saddened I have to do so again, before the entirety of noblemen of the North but…You have pledged to House Stark and I am the head of it, your concerns about my rule, future and Heir as much respected and understood as they are, they mustn’t be reason for you to disobey me or go against me.’ Sansa’s words had the man shutting his mouth under his thick moustache. ‘Besides, even if I was heirless, without a man by my side, I wouldn’t marry once again because some men would arrange it for me, do you understand that?’ Sansa asked calmly although her voice betrayed -maybe only to Jon’s ears- her annoyance, if not pain as well. Lord Glover seemed to attempt a different approach, finally struggling for some diplomacy as he had achieved to make the Queen rise from her throne to counter him. 

‘I knew your father, my Queen and my only concern, as I am sure his would be too was only-’ 

‘To get me married to the highest bidder.’ Sansa interrupted the Lord before he could go on. ‘My father, valiant and honourable as he was, he believed he did what was best for the kingdoms when he accepted the betrothal to Joffrey. That stupid girl I was back then _demanded_ my marriage to him, thinking that was the best for me…’ Sansa’s tone caused everyone to hold their breaths as more memories came back and spread on the table. ‘My position was set the moment the bells started tolling, signaling my birth. I would become a Queen, next to the King of the Iron Throne. But now I am a Queen of my own right and there is no Iron Throne to hide behind while my husband rules.’ Sansa’s words addressed everyone this time. ‘I have made sure your Keeps are safe under my rule. I have made sure once you go back, you’ll be lords of your castles, ladies of your hearths and I will continue to do so. For I have seen what people can do when they go hungry, and through Winter and War, I made sure you didn’t starve. From here, where a Stark will always be in Winterfell, or some other Keep of my own, where King Aegon and I will rule from, we’ll make sure the kingdoms will prosper.’ Sansa finally concluded and allowed the people around her to understand and accept what she had said and what she implied. 

‘And yes, since you once spat in my face that House Stark is dead although what was left of me was standing before you, since you once told me that you should have chosen me as your Queen… while the King in the North was still that, in Dragonstone…. And since you claim fatherly concern over my life. Yes, Lord Glover, I am pregnant,’ Sansa countered the betrayals before she forced the truth out of her lips.

Jon closed his eyes in defeat. He knew she couldn't have left the truth hanging since he had half confirmed it himself, since the people would be suspicious for the quick marriage. Sansa, Jon, their marriage and their unborn child along Rickard would be compromised if Sansa didn’t fix his mistake now. ‘Married to King Aegon or not, it is within my royal right to legitimise my children, like I did with my nephew. Yet, as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms along the North, I will ensure through my power and the Targaryen children born from me and King Aegon that the North will remain independent, powerful and safe, under Stark rule.’ Sansa added and kept her glare at Lord Glover. Jon could see the challenge in her eyes for anyone to utter a word more, yet she avoided Jon’s eyes, the pit in his stomach churned. She was furious at him, he hated to admit she had every right to. 

‘ _That_ should have been your only concern since your families and castles have suffered instability in the past, and that is addressed to you all.’ Sansa this time looked around her, the Lords and Ladies had finally shrunk to their seats, commanded by their Queen’s honour instead of dialogue that gave them the chance to attack as if they were entitled to things Sansa had suffered the most for. 

‘I don’t remind you of my position often but I am forced to do so now...I’m your Queen, the daughter of Ned Stark, his grandson will rule the North after me, born of Arya Stark, she and I are the final truborn Starks and you need to remember that I rule you all justly. I put you before my own needs during War, I will continue to do so during peace. Even if my children are named Targaryens, they will be raised to love the North, they will be raised to cherish it like I do, like Rickard is being raised to do so.’ Sansa’s hands were trembling, Jon felt the urge to touch her, bu he didn’t dare as her regal posture allowed no one to reach for her. 

Her aura felt like that of a Goddess, of war and wisdom, of fertility and love, of ice and punishment. He would bow and beg at her altar soon.

She had mentioned the different Keep she and Jon would live in, whichever that would be. She had put everyone in a position they couldn’t escape and she had certainly closed matters that shook her rule constantly, set by the Northern Lords. Only if she had done it at her own pace and time as she had planned the previous night, instead of pushing things out because he had stepped the line. 

‘Your Grace, you deserve all the best in the world. And if you are to be Queen of the South along the North, well, the Seven Kingdoms are only lucky to finally have a good and just Queen after the madness they have encountered over the years.’ Cley Cerwyn attempted to put a stop to the council with a conclusion. 

‘As for the child on the way, I am certain I express everyone around the table when I say that it will be welcome as the symbol of peace between the realms, the Seven of the South and the North before them. We only wish the best for the prince or princess.’ Lyrra Forrester added, smiling at her Queen with a nod of confidence by Cley’s side. 

‘Lady Forrester speaks the truth, my Queen.’ Lord Manderly finally gave in, receiving a glare from Lord Glover who remained sulking on his seat as their front broke. ‘You have proven yourself only just and fair, generous and compassionate during your rule, we are all certain, Lord Rickard, along your future children will inherit your virtues.’ the man inclined his head in acceptance finally. 

‘Our children will be lucky if yours are half as good as you in ruling.’ Lady Cassel added her own piece of mind and Sansa finally nodded, the steel mask back on. ‘And as brave as King Aegon of course,’ the lady added and Jon wished she hadn’t addressed him as Sansa bristled by his side. 

‘I believe we are done with the council for the day. If someone has an objection, speak now, while we are gathered, I will accept no betrayals and rumors spreading.’ Sansa added but this time silence encountered her. Lord Glover remained muted, hopefully having seen pushing through the current status quo was only resurfacing his old betrayals. 

Sansa finally excused everyone with a gesture. Hornwood withdrew his sword, just like Brienne, Arya stood but remained by her sister’s side, Jon remained as well, glancing at Sansa who stared at everyone emptying the room. Murmurs and whispers following them out. When the noblemen were finally outside the chambers, Commander Hornwood nodded curtly and exited the rooms as well, leaving the three royals with Brienne and Ghost who by then had laid on the floor, uninterested. Silence was spread among the three royals, Arya glanced between Sansa and Jon, not sure of how to break the ice when Sansa felt like a blizzard. 

‘That went surprisingly well,’ Arya tried, only to have Sansa’s icy stare upon her, silencing her. 

‘Sansa…’ Jon decided to try, sparing Arya from the duty of helping him. Sansa’s slow turn towards him reminded him of the past, when she would stare him to damnation while he defended the Dragon Queen to her. ‘I didn’t mean to jeopardise this and-’ 

‘Your Graces,’ Commander Hornwood rushed back inside the rooms, breathless as he held the pommel of his sword, interrupting Jon from whatever he was to say. Sansa turned towards her Commander, waiting expressionless. ‘Banners are reaching Winterfell.’ Hornwood announced, addressing Sansa and only. ‘Baratheon banners, my Queen.’ he added, causing Sansa to finally gasp at the words, her mask cracking at last. 

Jon glanced at his beloved as she exchanged the same look of worry with Arya, who for the first time in Jon’s life, allowed a flicker of fear to dominate her eyes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOh we had Kinvara at the start, falling from grace even further, and Jon and Sansa speaking to the lords, Arya there to threaten and glare daggers at everyone and I think Jon did a good job on speaking to them all about the past but the dragon in him can't keep him silent so he just half blurted the truth out in his outburst (we've seen him erupting with Ramsay, with Grey Worm too) (and glover did his best to coax a reaction) and Sansa had to fix it as she's a more skilled politician... now everyone knows of the baby!!!! and the marriage will soon be upon us!!! that doesn't mean Jon won't have made a bed hard to lay down on and Sansa is furious with him and of course GGEEENNDDRRRYYY is reaching Winterfell!!!!!!   
> I hope you all enjoyed it, can't wait for your words on it :)


	25. Sansa XIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok this chapter was super difficult for me to write, not sure why, I spent more time editing rather than writing it but I hope you'll enjoy it!!

_Chapter Twenty Five - Sansa XIII_

_“Love is a weakness, love no one but your children...”_

Cersei Lannister’s words filled Sansa’s mind as if the ruthless Queen’s ghost had lingered within the walls of Winterfell, as if she had never left from that visit to the North, a lifetime ago. 

_“Fight every battle,’’_ Another ghost, as resourceful as Cersei, as cruel. 

Sansa fought the fury she felt over Jon’s untimely revelation of her pregnancy as she turned and looked at Arya. Gendry was approaching. She had to prioritise her troubles, she had to become a team player, what she had accused Jon failing to be, even if currently her team was losing.

‘Is he coming with his wife?’ Arya wondered in shock, Sansa felt Jon reaching her right side, she yanked her hand away when she felt his palm reaching for hers, instead, she touched Arya’s shoulder. 

‘I don’t know what you’ve learnt of the things that happened in the past years.’ It had been only a day and Sansa had given Arya time to spend with her son, her sister hadn’t asked about Gendry. Sansa’s every mention had caused Arya’s eyes to cloud with pain but now he was reaching them and Arya needed to know the truth. The truth even Jon knew since Sansa had told him everything the night they first made love in that tent. ‘Mylla Errol, his wife died in childbed along with the girl she was carrying. Ever since, he hasn’t married again. claim and reign over the Stormlands has been a rocky one.’ Sansa was speaking urgently as the trio started moving. 

She was struggling to smother down the fear over the hope that ignited in Arya’s eyes, along the uneasiness they harboured in common. Sansa’s possessiveness over Rickard had to be controlled, especially now that his parents were both in Winterfell, no matter how much she hated sharing the decisions with them. 

Had she even the right to decide now? Losing Rickard felt like losing a part of herself.

‘Gendry replied to my letter informing me of his interest in Rickard months after his wife’s death. His delay drove me to consider he didn’t or couldn’t care. I did what you had asked me to do with your son.’ Sansa’s words were truthful and even if she hated to admit, apologetic, she had nothing to apologise for, she had protected her own when her own left her for different corners of the horizon. 

‘Gendry claimed Rickard informally, probably fearing conflict but my spies and letters from Bran had informed me that the Stormlanders had no intention to accept -let alone fight for- the… bastard of a bastard.’ Sansa’s final words were low, hating the name people in and out of the North still held with minds closed. Her spine straightened as if from steel and her head was held high as the light from the gate of the First Keep was shining before them. Closing in on it, Sansa realised she would at least face Gendry and the day he would reach his son, with her own family by her side. She fought the urge to take Jon’s hand this time, despite the freedom to do so now, her pregnancy had been revealed and along with their allies, their enemies would soon know too. 

Arya ceased walking and Sansa paused as well, tailed by Jon who wisely chose to remain silent. Sansa turned and looked at Arya deep in the eyes. 

‘We knew what we were doing when we chose to keep him here, under my protection. When we made him my Heir. Rickard belongs here.’ Sansa was turning desperate but she didn’t care, as she looked at the storm of emotions within her sister’s eyes, fear of losing Rickard clutched at her heart, causing her to fight back tears of desperation. 

What good is power if you can’t protect the ones you love?

‘Go on, please. I will be there in a moment,’ Arya desperately answered to Sansa’s shock, of course she would need a moment, but Sansa had hoped for reassurance from her sister, the mother of the Prince. Sansa didn’t push, she knew how Arya functioned. She only nodded, turning around and once again bracing herself for the blows. Appearances matterred, in every court, for every ruler, if she couldn’t regroup her own family for it, she would face everything on her own. She was the Matriarch of the Starks after all, from the Lone Wolf, she was turning into the leader of her recently reformed -even if in disarray- pack. It was her duty, her family, her honour to do whatever it was demanded of her. 

She started walking again, hands finally clasping at her belly, protecting the newest part of the pack, although she or he were half dragon too. She took a deep, steady breath, losing the internal balance she had hoped to achieve as she felt Jon’s gentle but firm grip on her forearm, causing her to pause once more and this time face him.

His eyes were familiar, _loved_ , holding all the remorse and the apology Sansa would have once craved from him. She was certain her own eyes held her disappointment, her anger. She had hoped they were reaching common ground, from the time he considered her words undermining and he questioned her ways, to the point of her openly -if not foolishly- opposing the Dragon Queen due to her jealousy. They should have been better prepared, she should have expected Jon’s possessiveness over her, he had proved in the past months how much he would do for her, in actions and words, great and terrible. He had also proved how hot-headed he was, unable to hold back when erupting. 

‘Let me go,’ she deadpanned but Jon shook his head, his gaze turning almost pleading, in such contrast to the demand he emitted. 

‘Never,’ he replied, looking deep into her eyes, in that way that almost stilled her breath. He tugged gently so they could be closer, the hooves of horses outside were audible now. Gendry was almost there. ‘I need to apologise.’ he added and she would have felt proud and validated, if it wasn’t for that feeling to be recurring, ever since King’s Landing, then Harrenhal and now in her own council in Winterfell. That progress while they had been in the Riverlands felt small and distanced. She needed to learn to share but he also needed to learn to shut his mouth and play nice. 

‘You want to apologise so I can forgive you and we go on? You were supposed to talk to the Lords and thank Gods you didn’t have Longclaw with you or my pregnancy wouldn’t be the only news spreading across the world by now, would it?’ she demanded angrily, her words spilling out of her mouth with no pause. She couldn’t help but feel anger flaring up inside her. They needed to do better. 

‘Sansa…’ Jon tried again, softer, Sansa gave him only an instant to go on, to his credit he did. ‘I didn’t mean to jeopardise you, or the baby, you know what you mean to me but…’ Jon trailed off, she could see he was furious at the Northern Lords. Yet, both he and Sansa knew their culture, no matter what sigils each had once or currently carried. 

‘Yet he had valid points, Jon. And the point of the council was to inform my subjects, not make enemies out of my most powerful bannermen.’ Sansa wished this conversation was taking place in privacy. They had been exposed for weeks now, always followed by their guards and councillors. The Journey had been an escape but the solid walls of Winterfell came with the cost of suffocating familiarity and belonging. ‘Besides, you think I couldn’t even order his execution for speaking betrayal?’ Sansa challenged and Jon nodded frantically, lips a thin line of fury. 

‘Aye and he’d deserve it,’ Jon replied stubbornly, Sansa rolled her eyes. She had tried to show him courtesy, diplomacy, while the Northern Lords demanded attention when he was King in the North, while she had helped him with strategy in King’s Landing, after he became King of the Seven Kingdoms, he was hard to teach, currently she would have prefered to slap him like she had done back in King’s Landing, instead of continuing this argument. 

‘But I didn’t, not because I couldn’t, but because I need him, I need him under the Starks.Until our reign proves his points wrong, until they are forgotten.’ Sansa replied to her future husband’s stubbornness as if he was a young boy, trying to release her hand, he held her even closer. ‘So do not assume I can’t take care of a council I have been manoeuvring for years now.’ Sansa demanded in her turn and Jon sighed, exasperated. 

‘I never assumed such thing, I just-’ Jon fought with his own words but Sansa waited despite her own turmoil, he had to learn to use words, sulking in a corner was something they did when they were distantly growing together. ‘I just didn’t want you insulted, hurt… You were respected and established, all until I came in the picture, I won’t let anyone minimise you for their own purposes… I had once promised you something. I’ll protect you.’ Sansa sighed at his words, his hand loosening around her arm, travelling to her hand, taking it in his. 

‘Good, protect me then, but do not underestimate me, Jon. Many did, but I’m harder to kill, now more than ever.’ Sansa added, she could see the shock she caused at the mere mention of her death. She could see how Jon’s eyes darkened as if in reflex by then. 

‘No one will touch even a hair from your hair.’ Jon’s words sounded dark, smoke filling their lungs as they looked deep into each other’s eyes, his other hand reached her cheek, his fingers grazing her hair. Sansa fought every urge to stop herself from leaning into his touch, she had to be strong, cold as steel. ‘They would learn the news soon, you said so yourself, we don’t have enough time, I wouldn’t leave South without them knowing.’ Sansa fought the urge to keep fuelling the fierce anger inside her but as his words felt warm and reasonable, so close to her own lips, the prospect of him leaving once again, for another war, while she would remain behind, only now with their child inside her, made Sansa sigh, her forehead finally touching Jon’s, eyes drifting close. She couldn’t deny the empowerment, along the love that surrounded her. 

‘Glad to know, now please behave. We don’t have time for this,’ Sansa added and sighed as she pulled her entire body away from him, this time Jon released her, finally giving her the space she needed to collect herself. Desire, anger, compassion, love and annoyance all bubbled within her so rapidly she couldn’t comprehend it as if they were back in square one, all that unresolved tension that had sparked between them from the moment they had reunited in that hug in Castle Black. Now, a lifetime later, maybe he was right, everyone would learn of the news, one way or the other. A team player, maybe both were awful at teamwork. 

They started again, the two of them towards the courtyard, fabrics swaying around them as they hurried. In a way, Sansa was glad Jon was there. 

‘Gendry’s the Lord of the Stormlands under your rule, make sure he will behave as well or I swear I will go to War with him for Rickard, if I have to .’ her words were harsh, unfair even, she knew, as she hadn’t even faced Gendry yet, but Sansa was desperate. A few moons ago, she was alone, and that loneliness, after the first two hard years, had become familiar and comforting, despite the pain it was shrouded with. Now she had to share herself with so many people, familiar and changed, it was hard to work with others again, especially when her allies in the past had betrayed her in the worst way. 

They finally reached the courtyard the moment the bannermen from the Stormlands were entering the courtyard. Sansa with Jon by her side stood proud with Edgar Hornwood and Brienne behind them. Sansa mostly felt rather than noticed Kinvara in the courtyard again, her heated gaze upon her; forced Sansa to conceal her belly in instinct. In vain, she knew, now everyone would learn, her body had withstood torture, even flaying, but would it be enough to protect her son or daughter from all the enemies that flocked around them? How many could she take down, just like Jon was to do? 

She sighed, struggling to focus on Gendry’s frowned face within his helmet as he entered the yard upon his horse. Her mind drifted to Lord Glover and the power he yielded in the North from Deepwood Motte, so close to Winterfell. If she was to leave Winterfell for whatever Keep she was to live in with Jon, she would have to make sure Rickard and Winterfell would be safe from civil wars among Northmen, without her there. 

Yet, Sansa knew, she couldn’t get rid of Glover just like that. Despite his own interests and past betrayals, she had foolishly forgiven him over the past and he hadn’t been aggressive at present. She needed him to yield instead of die, she needed him on her side, forever, no matter what. She sighed, as currently, her other problem was dismounting his stallion, Gendry took off his helmet and gloves, gave them to a solemn looking guard of his escort and approached the Queen in the North and the King of the Seven Kingdoms. 

After entire years and so many wars, a stag was back among the wolves, oddly under the dragon’s rule.

After a long moment of looking at both, ever dutifully, Gendry bowed first to Sansa, the ruler of the place and then at Jon, his liege and King. 

‘Your Majesties,’ Gendry was careful, had learnt a thing or two while in the Stormlands, as he struggled to survive in a kingdom that belonged to a family he became member of by a foreign invader, as Daenerys had passed to history and the minds of the people. 

Sansa had always felt strongest while at Winterfell, even while in Ramsay’s clutches, she had survived only because she had been in her home. She couldn’t imagine how Gendry felt while in a kingdom that at best had despised him. 

‘Welcome, Lord Baratheon,’ Sansa finally welcomed the man. ‘I hope your journey North was safe.’ she added out of custom, Gendry nodded as automatically, focusing on Sansa as she addressed him. ‘Your rooms for you and your men will be ready shortly.’ she added, hoping this first meeting would be uneventful. ‘Until then we could break bread and salt and-’ his unfocused gaze somewhere on her right had her nodding to herself, she hadn’t seen a man looking at a woman like that. 

Or maybe only when Jon had looked at her in the dragonpit, or while he had promised he would protect her, right before they could take Winterfell. Sansa had to stifle a sigh, she turned towards the entrance of the First Keep. Arya was standing, eyes as lost, world as shattered, or reassembled, sometimes you couldn’t understand the difference. She felt Jon shifting uncomfortably by her side, deep in her bones, she wasn’t surprised she felt his change so easily, they were one after all, even if she hated how frustrated he made her feel. No matter how much she wanted him to wrap his arms around her and keep his promise of protecting her, shielding her from a world that became more and more complicated by the day. 

‘Of course, Your Grace,’ Gendry’s words were a whisper, still lost and unfocused, struggling to regain his ground, he turned at Sansa and Jon again, nodding. Sansa could sense Arya was still at the entrance, not a step closer or further from the courtyard. ‘I hope the Crown Prince is healthy and happy,’ Gendry’s voice changed, softened, refocused, as he informally referred to his son. As Sansa nodded her head, behind her steel mask, she wondered if she was a monster for following what the boy’s mother -who was currently frozen and muted- had begged her to do, back then considering her actions according to what honour demanded. She wondered if she indeed had been a monster for keeping a son from his father. On the other hand, that very son would have been raised as the bastard in that Stormy Keep, like Jon had been raised in Winterfell. Sansa had spared the boy’s childhood and had set his future in terms no other illegitimate child had ever enjoyed in recent decades. That was what kept her going. 

‘He’s very well, thank you for your interest.’ her words were formal, cold. She and Gendry had been used in that tone by then, he was a royal guest, another man involved with a Stark sister, another father of another child. Maybe he had more to say with Jon than what they thought they had. 

‘You should come with me, Lord Baratheon, we have matters to discuss before anything’ Jon spoke the words and Sansa knew he would warn the man to be careful over their complicated family ties. She was glad, her eye catching the red dresses again momentary. ‘If you’ll excuse us, my Queen,’ Jon openly addressed her as his, pulling her out of the awkwardness or a possible scene that could unfold right after the disaster of the council. Sansa nodded, showing the way for the two men to go, they knew Winterfell after all. Some of the weapons her Queensguard carried -and some of the best crafted in the North for that matter- had been made by Gendry during the preparation for the Long Night. 

Sansa remained behind, her gaze turning towards Arya who had remained frozen, the pale light of the northern day warming the leather of her clothes, her gaze unfocused on the spot Gendry had been standing until a moment ago. 

Sansa knew Arya wasn’t in a position to speak right then, nor face Gendry or help her have a united front for Rickard. But Sansa had more issues in her hands, the world would soon know the dragon and the wolf would have a child, she needed powerful allies, unexpected maybe, but powerful nonetheless. 

Kinvara was strolling behind the guard that tailed Gendry and Jon, Sansa knew she had mastered games against dangerous women. She had left that viper crawl around for a long time now. Sansa would make her useful, and since the Dragon King couldn’t cast her aside because of matters of faith, the Ice Queen -a Northerner believer of the Old Gods-would, faith after all, like destiny were precarious things. 

‘Lady Kinvara,’ Sansa’s voice was sweet, demanding, for a second, she wondered if she sounded like Margery, or more like Cersei. The Red Woman paused, the veils of her attire flowing downwards as she turned and looked at the Queen in the North in feigned respect. 

‘Your Grace,’ The woman acknowledged with an incline of her head, eyes lowering, momentary stopping at Sansa’s middle. Sansa felt the vial within her dress’ bosom heavier as she realised where Kinvara had set her eyes on. 

For her child and for Rickard, Sansa would do anything. Allying with her enemies to overcome obstacles had become second nature for Sansa through her upbringing in King’s Landing and if she couldn’t rely on Jon’s scheming skills, she would commit to her own. 

Obstacles like Glover and enemies like Kinvara had to be ripped out, root and stem. 

‘I would like to have a word with you, if I may.’ Sansa added and Kinvara’s eyes darted upwards, searching Sansa’s, sky blue meeting with sea blue. ‘About matters of faith, of the North and the South. As Queen of all the realms through my marriage with King Aegon, I believe I need to have a word with the Matriarch of Faith of the Seven Kingdoms.’ Sansa’s specific words had the result she had expected to see in her foe’s eyes. 

Surprise, suspicion, need, triumph, ambition, relief. Sansa knew Kinvara had fallen from Jon’s grace, she had witnessed their violent interactions with her own eyes. The priestess needed someone else to cling to, someone powerful. Maybe she thought she could cling on Sansa herself, or at least wrap herself around her until draining her and then refocusing on Jon. She held more power over him when they had been alone after all. 

‘Of course my Queen, I am at your service in utmost happiness and respect.’ Kinvara added and Sansa wondered, had she been such a good liar when she was spreading the word for Daenerys Targaryen, or when she was morphing Jon, from a broken man to a Dragon King?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooooh Sansa is approaching Kinvara! she has a plan and this struggle with Jon reaching the same page sometimes creates rifts as they still learn to balance the world between them. the fight didn't come exactly, mostly a quick heated exchange but I don't know if Jon will like this new alliance.... and Sansa is pretty much done having her strolling around so... I think each of them have strong and weak elements and this fic is here to show them all, this is not the first time Sansa will work without telling Jon and certainly this was not the last time Jon messed up royally for Sansa to damage control so.... imperfect characters tagged is exactly that!  
> Gendry arrived and he was respectful and careful, this chapter was mostly to explore Sansa's turmoil over suddenly having everyone back under her roof, her insecurities and fears, along the storm of emotions she has towards Jon. I preferred to focus on that instead of moving the plot forward as I needed us to see some things from her pov first  
> what do you think Sansa wants from Kinvara?   
> the next chapter will be a surprise chap but I don't want to give anything away!  
> I can't wait to read the comments with your thoughts on it! thank you!


	26. Arya I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> through a crazy week at work and a 10 hour long course on sunday, I'm extremely proud of this chapter, my first ever from Arya's pov, I hope I did her justice, both her and Gendry who they are my second fave otp after jonsa  
> this is a gendrya chapter, making justice to them and their lore in my story so far, for the first time the protagonists speak of the things we know ever since we began this journey from other peoples' perspectives, so yes!   
> this chapter is a special gift to Abi117 as congrats for her new awesome job!  
> I hope you all enjoy!

_Chapter Twenty Six - Arya I_

_"The world doesn't just let girls decide what they want to be. But I can now."_

Arya felt her legs back-stepping until she hit the wall of the First Keep’s entrance. Her chest was tight, heart trying to escape its ribcage, her lungs screaming for and refusing air at the same time. However, she clutched at her throat, the weak part of her body that always hurt when she felt sick, ever since she killed the Night King. 

Jon was taking Gendry away, Sansa was escorting Kinvara, luring her to whatever thing her smart sister wanted the Red Priestess through. However, Arya only cared for the air that refused to enter her body. She shut her eyes, bending her rigid body until she coughed and the air penetrated her throat so painfully her eyes watered. 

Of course this day would come, she had carelessly fallen pregnant -as carelessly as Sansa did now, but who was she to judge- and she had attempted, for whatever she had thought she would have achieved if she had been faster, reaching Storm’s End before Gendry’s wedding. She had given her son to the only person she had been left with, the person she trusted the most, hoping to mend the gap she herself left by going West. And Sansa had not disappoint, she never did, she had been raising Rickard like her own, she had been there when Arya couldn’t have been, when Gendry hadn’t been. 

Arya was certain her sister had been criticised, by Northmen and Southerners alike, for keeping a son from his father in a society where women should be in their place. She had been certain Gendry had eventually kicked and screamed -even though only informally- and Sansa had resisted, not only legitimising RIckard but also setting him for the destiny of a King. When his actual mother had refused to be the lady everyone had expected her to be. When his father had been legitimised within a night by a foreign conqueror.

Sansa had done her part, now Arya had to step up. The Wars had been won, her list had been clean, her journeys ventured. Because of Arya’s actions; Sansa had faced obstacles in her reign back then, she had even faced an assasination attempt recently. For Arya’s son, for her vengeance, for her choices in life. Now her actions had to take some of the weight off her sister’s shoulders. Sansa wasn’t invincible, she had been cracking under pressure and only more would mount from the South, Arya had to help her sister just like Sansa had been helping her. 

The dark haired woman straightened her body, knowing she would have to meet him eventually, speak to him, she needed to be prepared. 

She started walking, her legs finally setting her entire body in motion, breathe in and out, silent steps, hands clutched in fists. Through familiar corridors and crooks of the castle, like she once lurked around as a child, later on as a spy of her own alliances. She wore her own face, and through the haze of her mind, she was certain she looked lost but no one dared to speak to her, scattered Lords lingering after the council, castle servants preparing for the new visitors and the Tournament, members of the Queensguard reaching the Great Hall. She recognised some of their weapons, Gendry had forged them. She wished she could yield one of those weapons, cut down her problems, slaughter the guilt, the fear, the worry, the righteousness over her choices. 

Her steps took her to the only place she could be, and the only place he wouldn’t be allowed by Sansa without her own consent. Father’s and Mother’s chambers, her sister’s now, in a few years’ time, her son’s. Rickard smiled at his mother the moment she entered the chamber, resting her body against the closed door behind her, in a way shielding the room. Dark eyes locked with each other as the toddler abandoned his nurse for Arya and as she picked him up, hot tears stung her eyes. The penetrating thought bleeding into her mind. Would Rickard smile at her, in the future, when he’d know Arya made his dear aunt keep him away from his father? She held tightly at her son, it had never been her intention, her plan had been different, although vague. Thanks to Sansa, she found an alternative and she clung to it, left the Queen in the North defend it and its Heir when Arya had promised she would be the executioner and Sansa the judge. 

She wasn’t sure for how long she hid in the rooms with Rickard. Arya wasn’t sure if more guests had arrived but Sansa hadn’t returned to her chambers, doing Gods knew what with Kinvara. Jon hadn’t sought her there, either. These two would have been heard if they had reunited through the day. Sansa wouldn’t let Jon off so easily after his misstep during the council. Arya sighed, she and her brother -for she didn’t consider him anything but- had it bad with their ex and current partners, respectively. 

Rickard had fallen asleep in Sansa’s bed long before Arya took the decision to go out again. She couldn’t face Gendry again at the feast. The North needed no more show for the day and she had admitted to herself with fear wrapping around her heart that she didn’t know him anymore, if she ever learnt Gendry at all. That deeply rooted need to protect him, to care for him, _be_ with him had turned into instinct and even if she had tried to rip it out root and stem from her heart and her life, a remaining ripe fruit still remained. Rickard and Arya’s feelings for Gendry were their testament to the world. She wondered, if by a miracle, they found common ground, would the world burn for another Baratheon and another Stark, just like it had turned to ashes for another Targaryen and another Stark. Like it was threatened to collapse now. 

They should have been better, that Great Council had been the chance they had needed. But while she and Sansa had kicked and screamed for Jon’s pardon, for his birthright, the rest had turned their backs to him. If things had been different back then, if she hadn’t fallen pregnant during those days in King’s Landing… 

No, that she didn’t regret, Arya thought as her eyes travelled to the sleeping form of her boy, Sansa said she looked just his mother, her but Arya could see the jaw, the bridge of his nose, his fingers. Rickard was Gendry’s as much as he was hers. 

The thought pivoted her through the chambers and out, the Queensguard members outside the room had multiplied. Sansa and her worries, Arya thought as she reached the floor where guests were hosted. She always reached for him, that was their way. To forge her weapon, to make love with him, to break his heart, Arya was always the one reaching Gendry. 

The Baratheon banners made the rooms he occupied evident. The Guards on their posts simply nodded as the Princess of Winterfell approached the door. Gods, she hated those titles, they weren’t her but Sansa ascending to the Northern throne only gave Arya higher titles. A lady, an Heiress Apparent, Princess Arya, the King’s Mother, she preferred Nightkingslayer the smallfolk called her in Wintertown. 

The door opened before her and she felt as if her body was moving to its own accord, standing in the solar until the door behind her closed. Gendry’s form was with its back turned, facing the fireplace, his cloak still on, his sigil evident upon it, expensive leather and refined details on him. It suited him, he deserved everything, he deserved it all. 

How come they ended up with nothing? 

Gendry finally turned around, slowly, his face always betraying his feelings, his goodness. Her heart kicked in her chest at the sight of his sad eyes, there was sorrow there, anger, understanding.Her own eyes stung with tears once again as she could also detect the love he always harbored in those eyes. 

‘You don’t look good,’ his voice was hoarse, tired, in stark contrast with how he had spoken to her while forging dragonglass in Winterefell’s weaponry. 

‘Neither do you.’ She replied in the same way, her broken voice betraying her. Gendry chuckled solemnly, nodding his head as he looked around the chambers. He looked tired indeed, not the out-of-place young bastard, not the newly ascended Lord of Storm’s End, he looked exhausted, battered. She wondered with a pang of guilt twisting in her gut, was it only her actions making him look like that? Wasn’t he happy in the Stormlands? She had been certain he would have been a wonderful lord. 

_‘Mylla Errol, his wife died in childbed along with the girl she was carrying. Ever since, he hasn’t married again. His claim and reign over the Stormlands has been a rocky one.’_ Sansa’s words from earlier that day flooded back in her mind. They had been through Hell respectively, all Seven of them. 

It wasn’t fair. 

Gendry’s eyes took all of her in, until his gaze stopped upon her own, looking deep into her eyes, bracing both for his next words. 

‘I want to see my son,’ his words were simple, yet demanding, right. Arya was certain he weighted them inside his mind, after years of dispute with Sansa, after his talk with Jon. Arya sighed, nodding her head. 

‘Of course you do,’ she mostly vocalised her own thoughts, igniting Gendry’s courage to move though, close in, reach her. Yet he didn’t dare touch her, they stood before each other, muted, rigid, time slowing around them as they faced each other for the first time in years. 

‘I thought I would never see you again…’ Gendry’s words took her aback, she had expected accusation, she certainly hadn’t expected that familiar look in his eyes, as if seeing something precious, something pure. She was none of that, not in a long time. 

‘I thought the same,’ she replied lamely, knowing she was not being enough although she had reached him in his own chambers, to face whatever he had in store for her. Sansa couldn’t be her wave-breaker again, nor Jon’s authority could keep Gendry away, it had to be her. ‘The last time I saw you, you were Lord of Storm’s End, marrying your lady…’ the words hurt, more than blades and more than evil touches. The shock etched upon his face was expected. 

‘You…?’ he was at the loss of words, clearly braced for something different himself. 

‘I came to Storm’s End, after the sacking of King’s Landing, after I realised I was with child… But I didn’t make it in time…’ Arya verified for his disbelief, shocking him further. 

‘You… I never saw you, you never came to me…. I loved you but I thought you were gone and...’ Gendry’s shock was mingled with fear, regret, whatever he had brought to his arsenal for Sansa was now collapsing before Arya’s truth. Indeed, she had never shown herself to him, to say what, once she had reached the Round Hall the news of the marriage between the young Baratheon and Lady Errol had reached Arya who was already showing, although she had kept her belly in disguise, along her rotting neck. ‘You never gave me the chance…’ Gendry’s words were more discouraged than bitter. 

‘What would you have done with it?’ Arya countered, as softly as she could. It hadn’t been his fault, she had turned him down once. ‘I would have only jeopardised your claim, you were getting married, I was pregnant with a child half Northern, a North that didn’t even belong to the Seven Kingdoms anymore…’ Arya tried but Gendry’s eyes darkened at her words. 

‘My chances were ruined anyway, Arya. They never accepted me… never liked me, the Baratheon bastard legitimised by a Targaryen… That marriage was done out of convenience.’ The bitterness was right there, draining her of the courage to go on with her own points, the image he made, the image of sadness and rejection too hurtful. ‘They… they even blamed me for my wife’s death…’ Of course, after Renly and his fight against his own brother, after Stannis and what he did to his own daughter, Stormlanders were hard to yield, narrow minded people to accept bastards, even legitimised, make their families suffer, after all. ‘I was with no family once again, but you had a family for me… and never showed up to me.’ His words spared her in action, it was easier, fighting was always easier. 

‘What would you have done? Would have annulled a marriage that more or less stabilised your reign? Would you force Rickard upon them, even if they didn’t want him? Baratheons are known for fighting among each other…’ Arya countered, Gendry scoffed and made a step back, shaking his head. 

‘They are also famous for being awful fathers but I would have raised him like my father never did with me. He wouldn’t have been a bastard, I would have accepted him, legitimised him.’ Gendry knew his words were desperate, unbased, they both knew he wouldn’t have remained on his seat of power, he even struggled now, without a bastard son, without marrying again, honoring the loss of his wife, Arya was certain some were even displeased by that, wanting him to finally have trueborn children of his own. People were heartless, ungrateful, hard to please. Arya knew first hand through all the years in Westeros and Braavos. 

‘You know this wouldn’t have been possible…’ Arya tried to reason this time with him, attempting some reconciliation. ‘We both know you still struggle with them, Rickard wouldn’t have been happy there, raised among enemies. Here he’s raised with love, Sansa’s, the people’s, she did a good job protecting him, raising him to be King.’ Arya’s words were hurtful, she was sure, she hadn’t wished to mention her sister into this, but it was the truth. Sansa had stood proud while Arya had to stumble away and cure herself. Among stags and enemies, without regret, Arya had chosen her own pack and her son had only been benefited. 

‘I would have them accepting him!’ Gendry finally bellowed, Arya wasn’t surprised at the outburst. 

_‘I can be your family.’_ she once had told him. They could have been, if the world was different. 

‘As a bastard at best!’ Arya screamed back, unable to hold back, not surprising him either. ‘I know how you were raised, you told me yourself. I know how Jon was raised, with or without my mother making his life Hell I know how bastards are treated!’ Arya added, her voice loud and breaking, making a step closer to Gendry. ‘The Bastard of Storm’s End, the Prince in the North! What you think is better for our son?’ Arya screamed the titles, she hated both, equally, but she had had her own free pass in the world, or so she had allowed everyone to think. Sansa had granted it to her, no strings attached, as a princess, as a mother, all roles had been put aside for Arya to be free and go to heal herself across the world. But now she was back to fight her battles again, battles her sister couldn’t and shouldn’t be wounded from. 

‘I think being raised next to at least one parent instead of none would have been better…’ Gendry’s words were curt, quick. Yet, he didn’t dare ask where she had been all this time, the ugly scars of her neck were answer enough, Arya was sure. He had seen the start of the decay, right before she left from King’s Landing. He hadn’t seen the way it changed during her pregnancy however, but it didn’t matter now. It didn’t matter anymore. 

‘Then why claim him only unofficially, informally?’ Arya countered back, already knowing the answer, although Gendry had been shocked at the question, in his own way verifying Sansa’s words of truth. ‘I’m sure the citadel has preserved your letters to the Queen in the North, not a legitimised claim was ever made, I bet; although I know she contacted you about Rickard.’ Arya added, without waiting, she replied for him. ‘Because you know Sansa would never give Rickard, acting on my orders, my wishes… Because you know the Stormlanders would never reach conflict with the North for a son out of wedlock…’ Arya chose not to use the word bastard anymore, she couldn’t bear it, never had. ‘Because you know that even if I had shown up back then, if you had destroyed your marriage, before or after consummating it, you would have been kicked out of power and away from the land of your family…’ Arya added softer now. ‘You once told me you had thought you’d never be Lord of anything…’ Arya reminded him, voice tired, hoarse. ‘I never wished to be a lady… and that was my choice but our son would never be Lord of anything either… If I hadn’t done what I did…’ Arya added, Gendry’s lips opened to speak again but she held her hand, halting him. ‘If your wife had lived… if she had survived, along your child, if you had more, would you have claimed Rickard officially? If Sansa had given him up to you, would you have forced him upon your wife like the bastard he’d be bound to be, or you would have legitimised him over your trueborn ones, dishonoring your wife?’ Arya added the questions she was certain he had avoided to ask himself all those years. 

Indeed, it had been easier to fight, to scream and kick and act upon righteousness. 

His silence was her answer. She was certain Gendry loved Rickard, or at least the idea of his existence, since he had never met him, because of her. But she was also certain she had made the right choice for her boy, no matter the hurt she had inflicted upon herself and Gendry. They had both seen the world for what it was, paid for their father’s choices, they had fought battles and wars, they had faced the night. The difference between them however lay upon letting go and moving on, Arya had lost too much too soon and had learnt to do both the hard way, Gendry on the other hand had earned too much too fast and found hard to balance himself in power like he did when he was no one. 

‘I once asked you to marry me… if you had accepted, none of this would be happening..’ Gendry’s words were soft, pained, yet they sparked Arya’s anger like oil did to fire. 

_‘I am not a Lady.’_ she had been honest with him on that, since the day she revealed herself to him. Now he was blaming her for that honesty as much as he blamed her for hiding everything else.

‘You can’t blame me for something I am not!’ she shouted, neck tingling from the pressure of the unshed tears, the quickening breath, the anger bubbling inside her. 

‘And you can’t blame me for everything I am!’ Gendry shouted back at her, both of them heaving, eyes wild and locked with each other. 

‘This leads nowhere!’ Arya’s exasperated words were answered by Gendry’s nodding head, his hand covering his face, pinching the bridge of his nose, she was certain she looked as tired and spent. 

‘There’s only one way…’ Arya was braced for his claim, she was ready to attack, kick and scream like a trapped wolf. ‘Compromise…’ she hated the word, the idea of sharing their son, or giving him up completely, just because the claim of a man was stronger than that of a woman. No one was going to take her son out of her sister’s lands. 

‘I will speak with King Aegon about it too.’ Gendry’s pensive expression almost scared her, almost. Jon, Aegon, whatever the name and title, her brother would never allow Gendry to rip Rickard from the Starks, if not out of compassion, out of fear of Sansa killing him.

Gendry’s hands taking hold of her forearms snapped Arya out of her bitter thoughts, harshly focusing on Gendry who stood before her, towering her as he looked deep into her eyes. 

‘You’re right,’ his voice was barely a whisper. ‘I never claimed him because I would never have my people’s support in a conflict over my motherless bastard…’ his words shocked Arya, made her halt the storm she had ready to break down upon him. ‘Daenerys Targaryen’s ascending me had felt like a gift at first… but it really wasn’t…’ Gendry added, hurt, pained, pride battered and bleeding. ‘Deep down I knew he would be better off here… loved and raised by a mother all but in name.’ his words were soft, finally admitting to himself the truth. 

‘I was afraid you would never return…’ he added, one hand going to her cheek, caressing it softly. Arya remained rigid, afraid of where he would take them with his words. ‘That’s why I never married again… not because of Mylla even though I tried to be happy with her… Because of you, because I didn’t want a family with anyone else… I had a son out there and you were alive...across the world, but alive…’ Gendry’s words were scary for Arya, more than his accusations and his hurt. She could see history repeating itself, him being reckless, her afraid to commit herself to something bigger than wishes, even though she wasn't sure which they were by then. Her son had become her anchor, she had travelled far and wide only to find a treatment, now that she restored her health, she only wanted to be with her son, her family. 

_‘I can be your family.’_

‘Gendry…’ 

‘I will abdicate.’ her stomach dropped at his words, at the love shining in his eyes, at the unfamiliar, yet welcome sense of warmth taking over her heart, hope, she believed it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!!!  
> I hope you enjoyed it, I think gendrya are completely different than jonsa, talking to each other instead of killing me with their long silences and sad, full of tension eyes, gendry is an open book and arya is speaking her mind  
> both of them needed to face their fears and each other  
> this was Arya's pov but I hope I explored Gendry as much as I could. throughout the chapters, many of you have expressed different opinions about gendrya, gendry, arya and rickard as individuals, I certainly can't satisfy everyone but I can only promise that I make this story with all my love for the characters so even if you don't agree with me, I hope you can see that  
> thoughts, criticism, love, concerns? I'm here craving your comments!!!!!


	27. Jon XIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a colleague of mine fell from the stairs and broke her tail bone, leading me to work crazy hours at work, on Sundays I have haircut seminars from 10 am until 6pm across Athens and in general I am not a night owl or a early bird, right now i'm an exhausted pigeon with an attitude.... but your comments have given me motivation to go on with the story even under those circumstances  
> as most of the time, the chapter here unfolded differently from what I had in mind and store for these two but I'm proud of it, sorry for the lack of art coming with it, i'm just too exhausted to do that right now. thank you so much for following me this far!!!!

Chapter Twenty Seven - Jon XIII

_‘We need to trust each other… We can’t fight a war amongst ourselves… we have so many enemies now…’_

The short days between Gendry’s arrival and the start of the Tournament melted away quickly. At Sansa’s request -or rather command- Jon had spoken with Gendry, warning him between the lines about Rickard. Yet, the move had been proven unnecessary as the young Baratheon had shown no interest in conflict, only sadness over where his life had led him, in a way, Jon had sympathised. Their true fathers were the reason the country had fallen apart, Ned Stark had been the one who found both, tried to protect them in the best way he could. Now they both needed to stand tall next to their Stark women, and their own children with them as paternity were unmapped waters for them both. 

Sansa had seemed lost in her duties, distant, Jon had been there before, her distance meant two things, either discomfort or anger. Jon knew he had angered and he was trying -hard- to be smart about his failures and allowed her space and time. Both valuable as Winterfell was crowded with guests from across Westeros and the Queen in the North had to take care of various different duties, a Queen, a Hostess, a negotiator, a pregnant woman, the initiator of the Tournament, Jon had allowed her time and space no matter how much he missed her. 

Jon had regretted his words during the council, again and again and now he was paying the price for his misstep. Even though he and Sansa were free now to sit next to each other, look at each other with looks only a couple would exchange, Sansa was now exposed, he knew, the news had travelled far and wide already, hence the reason she didn’t share those looks with Jon for the past few days. Or any other sign of affection for that matter.

He could see her discomfort too, channeled on Arya and Gendry who seemed to be reintroducing themselves to each other. Sansa had halfheartedly agreed on -or mostly simply nodded- at Arya’s announcement that Gendry would meet Rickard. With anxiety and unresolved anger, she had allowed the meeting to happen for the boy only before Arya and Gendry himself. Jon knew how afraid and insecure Sansa was about the child whom they had moved to Arya’s chambers, for the first time ever. Jon had tried to talk to Sansa, comfort her, but like back in the time when a Dragoness was amongst them, Sansa had remained silent, rigid and rigid with him. 

Jon had chosen to represent Winterfell at the Tournament -to show the Northmen he was among them out of choice of fighting for their Queen- but he had held his Targaryen colors and sigils, showing the North who he truly was, even if not everyone was happy about it. He had expected Kinvara to be loud about it but she had remained silent too, at last realising her days were short numbered. The news from the South were scarce, a silent calm before the storm. Drogon had been anxious too, away from Winterfell, deep into the Wolfswood where he remained free to roam with plenty of food of elk -as Jon’s extended stay in the North made the last wagon of criminals to look more and more empty with every moon turn- but far from Jon enough to make the beast uneasy, Jon could feel. 

Although the stay felt short and uneasy, Jon had missed the North, a Targaryen now, with a dragon, with enemies flocking like kindling ready to lit up, exposed for his only weakness; with her firekissed hair, her cold shoulder and a babe in her belly. Yet Jon knew, he would rather be in Winterfell than in King’s Landing, that city fell more and more hostile to him, even if he had truly seen it thrice. He understood why Sansa despised it so much. 

‘My King,’ one of his guards interrupted his thoughts as he sat in the solar of his chamber, clad in black leather, gazing on the numerous reports from Sam, Davos, his own Hand, House Botley from the Iron Islands and everyone who couldn’t make it on time -or out of political convenience- to the North for the Tournament. All reports were aligning into focus upon Essos, Manfrey’s spies had allegedly failed to kill Daario Naharis and Grey Worm would soon be reaching Meereen himself. Jon’s allies believed they were agreeing upon the advance on Westeros, if their alliance agreed on the spoils of war, while the Dothraki heads seemed unwilling to follow as most of them had retreated to the Grass Sea a long time ago and the rest simply refused to fight over a grudge for a Kalessi that was long gone while their new Khals kept them free. 

_Let them flock together, whoever they will be, let them. It will only make things easier._

Jon’s dark stormy eyes fell upon his guard who swifted on his own feet, nodding to himself before speaking. 

‘The Queen is waiting for your Grace in her solar.’ the man almost stammered and Jon although surprised, he smiled and nodded. Of course, the Tournament was to be opened and the first match was between Jon himself -representing Winterfell- and Lord Cerwyn. Jon had expected Sansa to remain distant but they would be standing as equals while opening the Tournament and he hadn’t been armored yet, expecting to do the chore himself. He couldn’t help but keep the smile upon his lips. Giving time and space helped her, he was learning his way through her anger. Jon stood up from his chair, ready to move but the guard attempted to speak again, halting Jon. ‘Also, my King, Lord Glover is outside, wishing to speak to you.’ The smile turned into a frown of thoughtfulness upon the young King’s face, Jon nodded slowly, not sure if he was doing well to accept him without Sansa, or if his actions would drive him back to her bad side. 

‘Let him in,’ Jon finally ordered, thinking Sansa wanted him to be diplomatic, he used to be, placating people thought savage beyond the Wall, until he failed to placate the real savage in the Narrow Sea, and the Kingdoms bled for it. 

Jon waited, hands clasped behind his back as the older man entered the chambers, head bowed already. 

‘Your Grace,’ the Northern Lord greeted stiffly, Jon nodded. 

‘My Lord,’ Jon replied with a curt nod himself, waiting. He could see the man was uneasy before him, uncomfortable. 

‘I… I would like to apologise, for my behaviour during the council, King Aegon,’ Glover’s words were clear enough, strict. Jon could hear the regret in them but he wasn’t sure if it existed there over what he had said a few days back, or over what he was doing now. ‘My words were uncalled for, I should have never insulted you.’ the older man added and glanced at Jon. the words seemed strange, unfocused, maybe the man felt the lesser evil of asking for forgiveness from another man, a former king of his, instead of his own Queen. 

‘The true insult was towards your Queen, Lord Glover, not myself.’ Jon’s words had the man glancing at him again. Honesty required people looking at each other, the fact of the man keeping his eyes low ignited anger within Jon’s chest. ‘If it was upon my hand, in my kingdom, you would have been punished, make sure of that. But your Queen is kind, compassionate, virtues for which she -and I for that matter- have paid dearly in our lives. Only she wishes to keep exercising said virtues…’ Jon’s words were sharp, dark. ‘So I can’t help but wonder, have you apologised to Queen Sansa before you came here to me?’ Jon added finally and then he saw it. The moment the man heard the mention of Sansa’s name, he looked at Jon one more time and it was right there, clear as day, the conflict, the fight between what he would wish to do and what he was forced to do, not out of duty or political games, but under the means of sorcery. 

He had learnt that look, he had seen that haze in servants’ eyes in Valyria, where Kinvara put people under her influence to serve herself and Jon. He had seen it in the eyes of men surrounding Melissandre too, he had felt the influence himself when she had tried to seduce him, before he could snap out of it and reject her, that same influence that brought him back to life. If he thought too hard, maybe he had seen in Stannis’ eyes too, persuading him to burn his only child at the end. 

The anger inside Jon’s chest erupted, making him growl and dismiss the man in his confusion as he left the chambers and stormed towards Kinvara’s chamber. That’s why she had been so silent, lurking around unnoticed. 

He was done with her games. 

The moment he stormed inside her chamber the Red Woman was enjoying a cup of wine, startled and disturbed at the intrusion as Jon went straight for her throat this time, causing her to throw her cup on the floor, spilling red everywhere. 

Kinvara gasped, grasping his hands with her own, wine dripping down her wrist as she widened her eyes at the advance. Jon’s eyes were a storm no one would have wished to encounter, his own hands trembling in restraint to simply clasp completely around her jugular. He couldn’t kill one of his allies, not inside Sansa’s castle, not without a trial, while the entirety of Westeros had sent delegations for the Tournament, while said delegations had been led by Kinvara on matters of fate. 

‘During the night, you will be taken to White Harbor, from there, you’re exiled to Voalntis, the punishment of returning is death.’ They both knew he would make sure death would find her anyway on the remote, volcanic island, even if he had to fly to Valyria and kill her himself once he was done with the rest of the traitors around him. 

‘What is my crime now?’ Kinvara struggled to ask and Jon only jerked his hands with her throat within them. 

‘Puting spells over political opponents, _Sansa’s bannermen_ , you stop playing your games, Kinvara tonight. We’re done here!’ Jon made sure she was following, wanting her to know he understood her schemes, no matter the motive. Her half smirk infuriated him more, causing his hands to tighten around her neck like a vice grip, the priestess’ blue eyes watered at the pressure. 

‘No we’re not…’ Kinvara managed, the smirk remaining despite her pain. ‘I was only following your future wife’s orders… my future Queen’s orders.’ Kinvara gasped through the words. Causing Jon’s outrage as his hands spasmed around her neck. ‘I was certain she spoke to you over the help she requested of me,’ Kinvara’s added words had Jon unclasping his hands with a growl, releasing her to cough and glare at him as the Red Woman clutched at her throat. Jon heaved before her, certain the priestess was just trying to save her own skin, afraid Sansa had been distant out of discomfort and guilt, instead of anger, after all. 

‘You’re lying,’ he grunted accusingly, Kinvara shook her head, sober, without a smirk, ready to strike like when he was alone and vulnerable, only with her and a dragon who struggled to accept his new dragonrider, while in Valyria. 

‘Sansa took me to her solar in the middle of the day, right after you left with Gendry Baratheon to wherever you took him to talk to him. It’s a shame you have no one in the North to inform you of what happened in broad daylight…’ Kinvara’s words cut like a blade, filling Jon not only with fury, but also dread at the truth of her words, if she was indeed speaking the truth. 

‘This changes nothing. You leave for White Harbor tonight otherwise I will execute you at dawn for the crime of sorcery on Lord Glover.’ Jon finally barked the order before he could storm out of the chambers and take the corridor leading to the Queen’s chambers. 

He had felt comfortable in the North, despite it all, but Kinvara had been right, no one had been by his side. They had tolerated him but he hadn’t blended in, could a dragon be truly accepted? 

_A Targaryen cannot be trusted._ Lord Royce’s words echoed in his mind and back then, he had agreed with them. 

_The North Remembers_

Of course they do, all of it. 

He had made his choices, as a bastard he had died, as a wolf, he had failed, he had hoped that as a dragon he wouldn’t only make up to everyone for the destruction his failure brought, but he would also succeed. 

Beneath the fury, the sense of betrayal, he also felt the hurt, that old vulnerability, the weakness of feeling lesser than others, of being a disgraced outsider. But he had always been that, only Sansa had opened for him, accepted him. 

_‘I’m not a Stark.’_

_‘You are to me.’_

Only she was the one to close him out now, like everyone seemed to do when Jon’s actions didn’t fit their plans. But he was done playing games that didn’t fit his own plans, even if they were Sansa’s. 

The guards at her chambers’ doors startled in reflex as he stormed closer but ultimately allowed him in, not sure if they should, he could tell by the quick glance in their scared and uneasy eyes. He barged in the room, shocked faces turning towards him as Sansa -already in a Stark grey dress for the day- held Rickard while Arya and Gendry were with her -the young Lord already armored- while Arya frowned at him in her leather breeches and jerkin. The Targaryen armor waited hanged in a corner, waiting for Sansa to put on Jon. 

Jon felt pain in his stomach at Sansa’s knowing gaze as she handed Rickard to Arya and turned towards him, the room filled with silent tension. Jon would swear Sansa had almost expected his raging entrance. 

‘We should go and help with those Lords flocking downstairs.’ Arya stated dryly, glancing between Sansa and Jon, bouncing Rickard at her hip, when there was no answer, she simply did as she declared and along Gendry started for the exit. 

Jon and Sansa were soon left alone within the chamber, the door closing behind Jon who frowned at the silence of his love before him. The silence didn’t stretch too much as Jon couldn’t help but bring the confrontation he had hoped to avoid a few days ago.

‘You screamed and kicked when I didn’t involve you in my plans…’ Jon started, voice dark and angry as he recalled their days at Harrenhal. ‘When I made mistakes of working on my own, you preached about loyalty and uniting in one front.’ The words poured out of his mouth bitter like bile, spat at the room as Sansa inhaled from her nose and held her head high.

‘You dragged a woman, _another_ woman into Winterfell once again and she keeps getting away with everything… I had to act.’ Sansa retorted sharply but Jon shook his head and continued as if she hadn’t spoken. 

‘A woman _you know_ I will get rid of, first chance I have! You go behind my back with that very woman you know is dangerous and power hungry and make pacts with her on bewitching your enemies…’ Jon added angrily, closing in towards Sansa who stood her ground. ‘And I would have called you a hypocrite for that but I have done the same before, Sansa… But what should I call you for betraying me, for undermining me once again?’ Jon wondered, his hands trembling in anger, tightening into fists at his sides. 

‘Once again…’ Sansa scoffed and through her own bitterness, Jon could see the guilt and sorrow, no matter how hard she tried to hide, he reached even closer. 

‘I made a mistake a few days back, is this some kind of revenge?’ he asked when there were mere inches apart, his voice dropping, the hurt bleeding into his tone. Sansa finally frowned, his emotions reaching through her. They had both changed through the years, he didn’t want to believe they would ever go against each other. But he was hurt and he needed to confirm he wasn’t the only one feeling that way in the Queen’s chambers. 

‘You really think I would reach Kinvara to spite you?’ Sansa asked in disbelief and although Jon felt the guilt leaking inside his heart, he fought hard to hold onto his wounded pride and the fact that Sansa had acted behind his back. 

‘Why did you do it then?’ Jon asked drily, waiting. 

‘Do you have any faith in me, at all?’ Sansa threw his own words back at him, in the same solar, years ago, those words had been heard, hurting him, now they angered him. 

‘That stupid game…’ He scoffed back, avoiding the answer that was obvious in his head. ‘We’ve played it before, you failed me with the Knights of the Vale, with the secret of my parentage... I failed you with Dragonstone… with the Dragon Queen… Lets not start all over again because we both will fail!’ Jon countered her question but Sansa remained still, unbreaking, he hated the way her eyes turned glassy, tears gathering at the corners of her beautiful eyes. 

‘Do you have any faith in me, at all?’ she replied by repeating the question, demanding the answer she had given him back then, Jon gritted his teeth at her persistence. 

‘You know I do,’ he reluctantly replied in the same fashion she once had answered herself. He did, no matter what, no matter the pain they had mutually inflicted upon each other, she was still his better half, hoping he was her own half as well, better or worse, it didn’t matter. 

‘The day Daenerys Targaryen approached me at the Library of this very castle, attempting into luring me to be her friend, she slipped one of her suspicions, something I should have caught on and come running to you.’ Sansa’s words had his frown remain, not out of anger as much as of confusion at the callback. ‘She asked me about who manipulated whom, upon your deal with her over the fight for the North and her love for you… _Jon’s war_ , she had said. I had thought her back then incompetent to understand the weight of the battle against the Dead, believing in you when you claimed it would be a war between life and oblivion…’ Sansa added and Jon waited, still refusing to let the air trapped in his lungs go loose. 

‘I was consumed in my anger, in my jealousy, in my despair over what was happening with her to realise the plain truth she gave me, the truth of what you were doing on your own.’ Sansa added and Jon was ready to retort another excuse for that mistake too but Sansa went on. ‘The same is happening now with you…’ Sansa pointed out. ‘You’re losing the game because it’s chaotic and you’re a tactician, consumed into obliterating them, and they are getting more and more with every moon turn. And soon, if not already they will have a valuable piece of information in their plans while deciding to attack us, the existence of our child.’ Sansa’s words were calmer now, her shoulders less stiff as she confessed what she was seeing, what was happening. He hated that he couldn’t blame her for being untruthful. He had changed, he knew, sometimes, even though he accepted himself, he realised he seemed unrecognisable to many, even to Sansa.

‘They would have learnt about it sooner or later,’ Jon’s words were laced with guilt, his tone softer, he wasn’t defending himself, he was only stating his despair over his mistake. 

‘When I had thought that I would control the way and the time the information would be out…’ Sansa countered as softly. ‘But by revealing what we made, you created more chaos.’ She added, looking deep into Jon’s eyes whose gaze fell to the floor only to reach hers again. ‘But I know chaos and how to use it in our favour… I had to get rid of the enemy closest not only to you but me as well, the most dangerous right now since I’m carrying our babe.’ Sansa’s words were calm yet they hit Jon hard, painful and truthful, bitter at the taste. 

‘Why behind my back?’ Jon demanded and Sansa sighed, finally looking downwards, her hands clasping before her belly. Jon felt the need to reach for her, put his hand over that spot after so many days away from her. 

‘Because we don’t have time and you wouldn’t have agreed. Because you know her and she knows you well, maybe knows your mind too well… you can think of a thousand motives in her books but I can only go forward assuming the worst. Because you will soon be leaving the North and she will be lurking around, knowing I’m carrying your heir… But even if she was to leave, where would she go for that matter, back to the South where she’s strong and supported by the new faith?’ Sansa asked, her voice breaking at the mention of his departure to war. 

If he wasn’t taking Kinvara upon Drogon’s back and away from Winterfell, indeed, she would be left behind, close to Sansa, and inevitably, their baby. ‘I fight every battle here, Jon.’ Sansa added slowly, pointing at her temple. ‘While you fight your battles out there.’ the same fingers pointed out of the window. ‘Just because we fight in different fields it doesn’t mean we fight a different war…’ Sansa added finally and reached for him, taking his hand, he couldn’t help but open his fist for her long, soft fingers to intertwine with his. He sighed deeply, looking at her, still hurt although he tried to decide if it was his pride that hurt or the taste of his own medicine. 

‘You once thought I was undermining you…’ Sansa reminded him softly. ‘Then I had to betray you indeed in order to save you from what you were doing.’ Sansa recalled her broken vow, a vow she had given him without knowing what it would have been about. ‘If you consider this betrayal, so be it but now she has a crime in her hands, a solid crime the North would actually kill her for… She’s on a land where her Lord’s fire is extinguished, where people don’t care about her life and won’t believe her words because I was so obvious into taking her in my chambers in broad daylight and she followed because she’s falling from grace and she’s desperate…’ Sansa added, finally closing in until their fronts touched, her lips felt warm, her breath hot in his ear, making him shiver as Jon finally closed his eyes, sighing at the sweet proximity while one arm wrapped around her waist and the other caressed the hard swell that could be detected only if touched. 

‘Now you can obliterate her.’ Sansa was giving Kinvara to him, just like he knew she had served Baelish to Arya. A treat, a gift, the final kill just like he had done himself with Ramsay for Sansa. 

Jon’s hands travelled from Sansa’s soft body to her jaw, cupping her face in his palms, tugging her gently for their lips to meet in a kiss of demand and triumph. No more words, whispered, shouted, spat or grunted, only actions,they had a war to win. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted their confrontation to be different, I wanted them to make a leap forward instead of a step back by touching upon all their past actions and trauma and even if they do follow some of the old habits and techniques, they learn to adjust and corporate, these two are different people, jons good at the field, sansa knows the game, these two need to embrace their differences and that they won't always be spelling out ever step they make, but they make each step in good faith and with the same goal so here we are, Sansa wrapped Kinvara in a web, easily and quickly for the priestess to fall right into the trap, she knows the game and I am sure many of you felt the littlefinger vibes off sansa but i didn't want to cut it down to mention because we're on jon's pov and he had a very vague idea about baelish and the lessons he taught sansa...  
> I hope you enjoyed it, what do you think will happen next? I hope you liked the end Kinvara seems to be taking, we had enough of her huh? thank you for reading, I need comments for motivation nowadays more than ever!!!! 
> 
> love you all, stay safe!


	28. Sansa XIV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> at 2am and after another crazy week some errors might be around  
> enjoy!

Chapter Twenty Eight - Sansa XIV

‘Jon is Jon, I trust him, he’ll keep me safe.”

The kiss was deepening with every passing moment, Jon’s hands tugged Sansa closer, tightly against him as Sansa’s hands roamed through his curls, messing the tie he had trapped it in, scrapping a this scalp lightly, the graze coaxing a groan shared in their kiss. Jon made the first move to take her towards her chambers’ bed, the place they should have shared since his revelation, only if it wasn’t the world that needed to be fixed between them first. 

The thought forced Sansa to break the kiss in a gasp, her lips swollen by his, breathless and unfocused from the proximity, his scent, his darkened eyes, hungry and insatiable for her, his touch soft, yet demanding. 

‘We must stop,’ Sansa tried to cling to her sanity, the Tournament couldn’t start without the monarchs opening it. 

‘No,’ Jon rasped out before he could recapture her lips with his in another kiss, his hands wrapping around her even tighter, his hand roaming at the small of her back before he could cup her from behind, grinding her against him. Sansa sighed and gave in only for a moment before she pushed him back gently but firmly. 

‘I must armor you,’ She tried to remind him as they struggled with each other, heaving breaths and hungry gazes between them, his eyes left her lips for her eyes, there was a glint there, he would love to take her while in his armour, she suppressed a moan, he was missing the point and she was losing the battle of not giving in to their desires. 

‘I want to undress you,’ he wasn’t listening and she would have laughed if passion didn’t tingle in every fiber of her being. ‘And only put your crown on that beautiful head of yours,’ Jon added and tried to reach for her again but Sansa held her hands against his chest, avoiding the next kiss on the lips by inclining her head with a chuckle she couldn’t help but let out, turning into a moan when his relentless lips landed on the soft skin of her neck, the nip at her throat would leave a mark for Westeros to see if Jon used his teeth. 

‘Jon… the Tournament,’ Sansa tried half heartedly and even if she achieved her goal, Jon pausing with a groan the moment his teeth actually grazed her throat, Sansa hated that he stopped, the tight coil in her stomach, the throbbing between her legs demanded attention. ‘Later, I swear, later,’ she promised, struggling to calm down in his arms that lingered around him, keeping her in his embrace, his forehead having fallen upon her shoulder, a gentle kiss was plastered there over the fabric of her dress. 

‘Aye, tonight,’ Jon’s voice was gruff, he was fighting every urge and Sansa was proud, he was like a storm, his desires always on top of everything but he had to learn anew. He used to be a brother of the Night’s Watch, he had been able to stifle most of his passions, apart from the times he broke his oath for that wildling girl, and then his vows for the freefolk, and then when he abandoned the Watch altogether to reclaim Winterfell with Sansa herself. He had to learn to wait, he had to be patient. Sansa finally took a deep breath and moved a step away, taking his hand and guiding him close to the armour waiting for him at her table and the rack. She allowed him to see the details engraved upon the breastplate. The head of his dragon upon the black surface, rubies in for eyes, Jon recognised the material Sansa was sure. He looked at her in surprise. 

‘Dragonglass,’ he commented in surprise. 

‘Melted along metal, there was so much of it left in Winterfell after the Battle for the Dawn, the maester experimented with the blacksmiths, we figured out it turned the metal armors harder to break or even bend, we used the mix for infrastructure too, it withstands warmth like nothing else…’ Sansa explained as Jon’s fingers touched the breastplate and raised it to put it upon his chest, sparing her from lifting the weight. As he raised it, he saw the direwolf symbol emblem on the inside, he glanced at Sansa, eyes soft, desire and passion, lust and need had turned into affection, into understanding. 

‘You’re Aegon Targaryen, I made sure everyone knows that across Westeros…’ Sansa added and Jon remained silent for her to continue. ‘But you will always be a Stark to me.’ Sansa added and Jon brought the breastplate on one arm as he tugged her closer with the other, wrapping around her waist, they shared another kiss, her own hands touching his shoulder and neck from the side. 

‘Like our babe,’ Jon whispered when the kiss was over and Sansa smiled, nuzzling her nose to his cheek, nodding her head. 

‘If a boy,’ Sansa whispered. ‘Would you like for us to name him Robb?’ she asked, her voice barely audible, they hadn’t spoken of their child in calmness, they hadn’t planned a single thing for it, bringing up the naming made it all the more real, unveiled the fear and the urgency over righting the world before its arrival. It also brought all the truth of it steadily growing in Sansa’s womb, the fruit of their love, despite all the obstacles. Jon’s eyes were soft, glistening, a man full of passions, he always showed emotion before her, never afraid to hide. 

‘I always wanted that,’ he whispered, his arm circling around her waist led his hand to touch her belly as Sansa nodded, tears having built in her own eyes. 

‘Me too,’ she whispered through a tearful smile. She had dreamed, like a stupid girl, she had abandoned those dreams when the horrors of the world swallowed her innocence, her faith in fairytales. Now she was moons away from curdling her babe in her arms, hers and Jon’s babe. 

‘And if a girl?’ Jon asked and Sansa smiled and shook her head. She had thought of names when Arya was pregnant, Catelyn, for her Lady Mother would have been beautiful for Arya’s daughter, but Sansa wouldn’t force the name of the woman who mistreated Jon upon him, no matter how much she loved her late mother. What mattered was her present and the future with Jon, not the awful past. 

‘Lyarra, for our grandmother?’ Sansa offered gently. Catelyn would have been a slap for Jon and Lyanna would have been a slap for Dorne if the next monarch of the Seven Kingdoms was named by the woman whose honor became the reason they all bled, the reason Rhaegar Targaryen annulled his marriage with Elia Martell and disowned his children with her. Everyone deserved to move on, to let past pain aside. 

‘I love it,’ Jon’s voice was thick, Sansa was certain similar thoughts ran through his mind over the name of their possible daughter. 

‘A boy or a girl?’ Sansa asked as she finally stole a small kiss from him and made a step back for him to put the chainmail and then the breastplate on, she started tying the cords of it, securing it upon his body before she could help with the smaller parts of it. 

‘As long as you’re both healthy, I don’t mind,’ Jon’s voice was serious and Sansa glanced at his eyes, detecting the worry. 

‘The Tullies are known for their easy labours,’ Sansa tried to humor him with the truth, her mother had five smooth deliveries, as did her own mother and grandmother before her. 

‘Good, because the Starks face the Stranger every time,’ Jon’s response was dry but still worried. Lyanna had died during his birth, Arya had almost died during Rickard’s birth. Sansa sighed and stood proud before Jon, he didn’t hug her and she knew he was afraid he would harm her against the metal that clang from his body now. Sansa made the small step into his personal space and framed his jaw with her hands, tugging him in this time for a kiss. 

‘I will be alright, and I intend on giving you many children, boys and girls.’ Sansa reassured him softly, finally achieving a smile to rise on his face. 

‘That sounds like a beautiful plan.’ Jon agreed as softly and Sansa smiled. ‘I like that we have a plan for the future, the two of us,’ Jon added with a smile of his own, the two remained still for a moment, looking deep into each other’s eyes, considering how far they reached ever since their reunion at Castle Black. 

‘We need to work on that future,’ Sansa urged gently. ‘For now, Kinvara stays close to me, we’ll make her believe we indeed are in dispute over her.’ Sansa brought everything back into focus. Jon frowned and opened his mouth to protest but Sansa shook her head, his face still in her soft hands. ‘You won’t go out and execute her just like that after you paraded her through the kingdoms as a representative of the new faith. We’ll let her think she’s safe, and we’ll let Glover participate in the celebrations of the Tournament, right now only we know he’s under her spells, but people will notice, they know him, his bannermen, his family. They will be flocking around me soon, expressing their concerns…’ Sansa explained calmly as she reached for Jon’s helmet, scales had been crafted on the metal. ‘After the Tournament and our wedding, we’ll execute her, lets hope we’ll have time before you go South.’ Sansa added and Jon sighed and nodded. 

‘Our wedding…’ Jon played the words on his tongue, waiting for Sansa to explain the setting. 

‘Will be quickly done after the Tournament, while everyone is here for our people to witness it. After the war, we can celebrate, but until then, we need to establish ourselves, our baby as a trueborn heir of yours.’ Sansa added and Jon sighed and nodded, she had Rickard but their child had to be recognised through marriage for Jon to have the heir or heiress of the Seven Kingdoms. She had thought of how the next days would unfold, her coronation dress was already undergoing some additions for the occasion. Wherever they would end up establishing their rule, for now Winterfell would serve for their wedding. 

‘Where will it take place?’ Jon asked casually, Sansa shrugged, but answered nonetheless.

‘Under the Seven, I married Tyrion and that was a ridiculous affair… Under our old Gods I married Ramsay and well... let's say I wasn’t exactly blessed now was I…?’ Sansa’s dry tone had Jon calling out her name in unease and pain over the facts. Sansa shook her head. ‘I’m done with all that, Gods and prayers… But you hoped to establish yourself through the new faith and the North needs to learn that a dragon will be a frequent sight around, since their Queen will be married to a Targaryen, giving him Targaryen children who might also ride that Dragon. So, I think a wedding under the Lord of Light, for Kinvara to facilitate and the word to spread will be enough smoke in her eyes until we take her out.’ The final words that left her mouth had actually Jon protesting.

‘You want Kinvara to marry us?’ Jon asked in disbelief, Sansa chuckled despite the seriousness of the matter. 

‘I want her to serve her purpose without poisoning any of us in our sleep… she’s a desperate fanatic… hence dangerous and unpredictable. And if indeed, she has the Sight, she can see through our plan but our actions can cast doubt in her mind over what she sees and what is happening…’ Sansa added and stopped herself from telling Jon she had worse than Kinvara, Roose Bolton had facilitated her last wedding to his son. It couldn’t be worse than that. 

Jon remained silent for a moment before sighing and nodding his head, seeing reason in her actions. She nodded her head and moved a step away from Jon after handing him his helmet. She reached for a wooden box on her desk and opened it, taking her crown out and putting on her head before she could smooth her updo and face Jon again who watched her with eyes that betrayed need and lust. 

‘I love your crown,’ Jon offered and Sansa grinned. 

‘I’m sure you do, but she will be watching, so we must look cold with each other.’ Sansa added and Jon sighed and approached her, his hand lifted to trace a path from her cheek to her jaw, down her neck and breast, cupping her ribs beneath it, tracing the small swell further down that was concealed if not touched. 

‘How can I act cold with you when you look so beautiful with that crown on your head and my babe in your belly?’ Jon wondered huskily and Sansa sighed and made a step back, she needed the distance or they would never leave these chambers. ‘I’ve missed you so much, Sansa.’ his words had her stealing another kiss before detaching herself completely from his embrace. 

‘Tonight,’ she promised and they both breathed in and nodded at each other. ‘And Jon, please be careful during the Tournament,’ Sansa added, she knew worry was lacing her tone but she couldn’t help it. He nodded and offered his hand valiantly for her to take. She shook her head with an apologetic smile and he nodded. 

‘Right, cold,’ he mused and they two started for the chambers’ exit. 

The moment they were out of the chambers, Sansa’s guards followed them as the couple straightened their backs and kept their faces emotionless. The corridors led them to the gathered lords and ladies of the courtyard; it was a cloudy Spring day. Everyone bowed and Sansa and Jon inclined their heads stiffly, both noticing the red fabrics among the crowd of expensive silk, furs and embodied wool and cotton of the rest. 

Arya reached Sansa and offered her Rickard who gave his hand from her mother to her aunt for the Queen to escort her Heir towards the Tournament stands that had been set outside the Godswood. Arya searched Sansa’s eyes for an answer on how her encounter with Jon had gone and Sansa was certain only her sister took the truth from her gaze. She nodded quickly, smiling down at her son and nodding at her brother as she stepped aside for Sansa and Jon to stand before the crowd with Rickard between them. 

There were looks of hope, promise, compassion. Everyone knew by then that the Queen was pregnant, that the image she and Jon made with Rickard by her hand was the image from the future. Sansa and Jon started first towards the stands that had been set up, engulfing the field where the jousting and the rest of the games would take place. As Sansa looked down to gather the skirt of her dress as to walk easier, she noticed Rickard extending his free hand towards Jon who followed Sansa’s gaze and saw the boy’s offer. Jon took the boy’s hand quickly and smiled at him, unable to hold back the emotion over the child’s acceptance and Sansa couldn’t help but smile at the boy as well. A few days ago, he was shy and in need to hide in her chambers during the night, now he was sharing himself with his parents and his uncle apart from Sansa. No matter how hard it had been for Sansa to share him, to let go of her own overprotectiveness of the boy she considered a son, she was glad Rickard was opening up to all the people who loved him, to his family. 

Her smile faded as she raised her head again, not glancing at Jon although she craved to see the happiness in his own eyes. She restrained her desires as the two reached the podium and sat down with Rickard, his chubby fingers fumbling with Sansa’s sleeve as she sat and took him on her lap while they waited for everyone to settle around them. Soon, Gendry and Arya were by her left while Jon sat by her right, watching in his armor, he would soon be joining the jousting field along Cley for the first round. Sansa knew they would both be careful with each other, or at least she hoped Jon wouldn’t play anything funny on her ex-lover, they were allies now. 

Sansa noticed Lord Glover, along Lord Manderly and Lady Forrester, Sansa sighed, knowing Kinvara was watching everything, she searched for her too, found her on the back of the podium, where the priestess inclined her head with a pointed smile. 

Good, she was still fooled. 

Everyone was soon ready and both Sansa and Jon stood, in grey soft fabrics and black metal armour with Rickard between them. Sansa was the one to speak over the commotion of the people gathered. She felt as if that tournament in King’s Landing she had witnessed by her father’s arm was a lifetime ago, it actually was, she thought as she gazed around her. 

‘The Tournament of Ice and Fire is a joyous occasion, a magnificent chance for the North and the Seven Kingdoms to celebrate the peace between them ever since the end of the Wars and the Independence of the Northern Crown.’ Sansa began and everyone cheered, the Northerners were more in numbers and louder in pride. ‘The union of King Aegon and myself will signal the longevity of that peace and the prosperity for the North and the South.’ Sansa added and the crowd responded louder. 

‘Let us have those days for celebration, for achieving ties of friendship and partnership along the people and the kingdoms. Let this be a chance where all of us, Northermen, Ironborn, Rivermen, Dornish, everyone, from every part of Westeros; be joyous under Northern hospitality and during the Tournament, followed by the wedding between King Aegon and myself.’ Sansa’s words were met with commotion again, flags were waved, people were ready to have fun after so long and she smiled at them as Rickard waved from her side, she picked him on her hip as she addressed the people around her again. ‘King Aegon, who as my future husband and once King in the North, wanted to represent Winterfell with his banners.’ Sansa added and everyone, although curious at the move, didn’t dare object. Jon nodded by Sansa’s side and looked around him. 

‘These are days of happiness, for us and you alike, we are certain. After a long journey, where we inspected the Kingdoms, the needs of the people and we made reforms along the way, we’re here to establish those chances with this Tournament. The wars are over, the fighting and the pain. Whatever lies ahead will be faced with a strategy that won’t jeopardise the people. No more blood and no more death, only peace and prosperity for a just world of mercy.’ Jon’s words were also met with enthusiasm, everyone knew a storm was brewing in the east, they also knew he had the same dragon that had levelled fleets and cities before. Everyone hoped they wouldn’t be attacked by the beast ever again, only defended thanks to it. 

Sansa inclined her head towards Rickard as Jon turned towards them both and bowed in respect for being their representative champion. Sansa whispered the words she would have to say to Rickard. 

‘Be valiant and str’ong, bra’ve and honor’able.’ Rickard tried his best through the words and Jon smiled and bowed again before he could wear his scaled helmet and leave the podium, a quick glance of reassurement was all he sent to Sansa from inside the helmet before he could lower the visor of it. 

He was soon mounting his horse,getting ready to parade through the field with his dragon banner while Cley did the same with his own, Lady Forrester was watching with worry and anticipation in her eyes as the two men trotted towards Sansa and Rickard for the favor and to pay their respects. Cley didn’t even present his lance, Sansa knew the young man understood boundaries, but she had an act to keep so she had Rickard helping her tie the favor on the tip of Jon’s lance. The crowd still picked up on the gesture and cheered for the two monarchs. 

The two champions moved in opposite directions, getting their shields and horses ready to run. They started towards each other with speed, lances ready to strike and Sansa felt her stomach dropping, she wanted neither of them hurt. 

Cley fell with a thud off his horse as Jon remained on his for the remainder of the turn. Apart from shaken, Cley only seemed dazed and Sansa sighed as people around her already paid their bets to each other for the first round, cheering for the winner, typical smallfolk and their small passions, she thought as she let the breath she had been holding as Jon trotted proudly towards her, his visor open, the mirth and excitement in his eyes evident. 

The day passed by with Jon winning round after round, just like Gendry did, representing the Stormlands. Sansa would have rolled her eyes at the irony, everything screamed Harrenhal in her head, the past repeating itself in a twisted way and she would have, if she hadn’t spent the day gasping and worrying over the fathers of her unborn child and nephew, along Arya who cursed every time a round was done and apologised as Rickard looked at her in shock and Sansa looked at her in anger. 

‘Shit,’ Rickard exclaimed as he tripped while held by Arya as they exited the podium and Sansa glared at Arya. 

‘A week around him and listen to that foul mouth.’ Sansa exclaimed angrily as everyone followed the Queen and the Princess of the North towards the castle, everywhere tables were set for the celebration that were to take all night, in and out of the Great Hall. Arya sighed but grinned at her son while Sansa scowled at her. 

The feast was set by the servants who had done an amazing job in the kitchens and everyone cheered the moment Jon showed up, bruised, tired to the bone but smiling happily, drinking in the acceptance and welcome from the people. He sat by Sansa’s side and she fought the urge to smile at him, kiss him and ask if he felt alright after all those encounters with lances and advances. 

‘I’m alright,’ he offered with a pained smile of his own as he drank from his ale. Sansa simply nodded and tried to eat some of her black bread and cheese before her, meat had started to revolt her. 

Kinvara was sulking in a corner, watching him with hateful eyes. ‘I’m surprised she didn’t try anything for you to fall off your horse,’ Sansa added and Jon glanced at her as she cut the bread to smaller pieces. ‘People have been looking at Lord Glover strangely all day, he seemed hypnotised during the day.’ She added carefully and Jon glared at Kinvara from across the room before he could glance at Sansa with serious eyes. 

‘I hope this ends soon.’ he added the moment people started cheering for Gendry who entered the Hall and smiled shyly at everyone, he had fought valiantly, for Arya, and despite the dispute he had with the Queen, since she was alright with him around her Heir, the people followed suit and cheered for the spectacle he had given throughout the day. He sat next to Arya who was cuddling a dozing off Rickard, the bread still in his tiny hands as his chubby face was hidden against his mother’s breast to conceal himself from the noise and the lights. 

Sansa found the chance and soon she was taking Rickard from Arya’s arms, declaring she was done for the day and everyone was free to continue without her. Jon, Arya and Gendry stood in respect for her to leave and soon she was moving through the corridors to Arya’s old chambers, where the boy now slept. She smiled as she held the toddler in her arms, he was peaceful, happy, even with a dirty mouth like his mother. 

He was happy and so was Sansa. 

She entered the chambers and placed him carefully on the cot, like she had been doing for the past years, she lingered only for a moment more, not touching him as she knew he would be irritated, she only watched him with her eyes, proud and happy he would be safe and happy. He stirred when she made to leave. 

‘Aunta,’ Rickard mumbled and Sansa halted and turned towards her nephew, smiling down at him, reaching for the woollen wolf she had made for him when he had turned one month old, she gave it to him. ‘Momma says you have a babe in yor belly,’ the boy’s voice was clouded with exhaustion. Sansa’s smile remained as she nodded her head. 

‘Yes, I have a baby cousin for you to play, sweetling, right here,’ Sansa revealed, pointing at her navel and Rickard frowned slightly at the confirmation. 

‘I want only you to play,’ he moaned and Sansa knew it was a mix of insecurity and tiredness. Sansa finally caressed the boy’s dark hair before she could reach for his cheek. 

‘Awhile ago, you and I were alone here, just the two of us, but now Momma and your Father are here for you. Uncle Aegon is here for me and with him, I will have a baby.’ Sansa stated and the boy watched her, nodding his head. ‘But no matter who comes or goes, Rickard, you and I will forever be Aunta Sansa and her favorite boy in the world. I adore you, sweetling, that can’t change by my baby or your parents being around or me being away,’ Sansa promised and the boy took a shaky breath and nodded. 

‘You be with me,’ Rickard confirmed and Sansa smiled, tears stung her eyes within heartbeats, maybe it was the pregnancy or the fact that she would have to leave Winterfell sooner or later indeed and Rickard would stay behind as Heir to the North until one day, he could live in Moat Cailin if he wished. 

‘Always, my love,’ Sansa promised, she didn’t want to upset his sleep. The boy smiled and nodded his head, eyes closing effortlessly after the reassurance. 

Sansa stood and moved away from the boy’s bed, her eyes watching the steady rising and falling of his tummy, until she reached the chambers’ door, when she opened it, she found herself standing before Arya and Gendry who smiled at her uneasily. Sansa could see in their eyes the second chance they were giving to each other, along the need of compassion from her side, as if they needed it. She could see Arya’s hidden need for understanding, Gendry’s obvious craving for acceptance. 

‘Sweet dreams,’ Sansa only stated, inclining her head, like with Bran, Jon, even Theon, she kept silent and allowed the people around her to make their choices, if need be, she would be there once more to pick up the pieces. 

‘Sansa…’ Arya tried quietly as the Queen was ready to exit the chambers for the couple to enter. She halted her step and looked at Gendry and Arya. This should have been less complicated, Arya and Gendry should have known their son since he was inside his mother’s womb, Sansa shouldn’t be the one giving away a piece of herself once again. 

‘I plan to abdicate, so I can stay here with Arya and Rickard,’ Gendry finally spoke the words that had Sansa’s eyes going wide, drifting from the man she had been in dispute over the boy behind her for years, to Arya who nodded her head, reassuring and seeking reassurance at the same time. They had found themselves in a similar position a few days back, when Sansa was reassuring Arya of Jon’s intention and new status. 

‘You should speak with your Liege,’ Sansa offered, an ally of Jon was giving up his duties to become an ally of Sansa. If Gendry remained Lord of the Stormlands, his and Arya’s union would tie the North with the Stormlands deeply, yet the position of the North’s Heir would turn more uncertain than ever. If Gendry belonged to the North, Jon would have to face yet another gap in a great Seat of Power, but Rickard and his fate would be secured. Sansa was realising that soon, this would have to be decided not only between Jon and Gendry, but also between her and Jon. Picking up pieces and measuring the consequences of chaos. 

She knew cof haos. 

Gendry nodded his head, his eyes soft as they turned towards Arya. 

‘I will, first chance I have tomorrow, after the Tournament. Until then, I needed you to know that I am not here as an enemy, I am here… with Arya and Rickard in the best interest of my heart.’ Gendry added and Sansa imagined, no matter how odd it felt, herself and Jon away from Winterfell, the place they had bled and fought for, and Arya of all the Starks with Gendry in the Castle, remaining with their Stark son, raising him until he was to become King in the North while her own children were to be dragons somewhere in the South.. 

‘Good, then that makes two of us.’ Sansa finally gave her acceptance in her own words, making Gendry and then Arya smile at her in relief. ‘I suppose someone will have to be here after I leave Winterfell,’ Sansa added, this time looking at her sister. That wasn’t the time nor the place but soon they knew, they would be swapping places, Arya would stay and Sansa would go, one with the duties of the Lady of Winterfell and the other with a babe in her belly, the Queen of the entire continent. ‘Goodnight,’ Sansa added, leaving her words for Arya to work through, face and accept, they had a long way ahead of them. 

Sansa passed through the couple with her head bent, exhaustion, the truth and the ramifications of their actions, past, present and future, upon her shoulders. It had been easier, when Rickard was a babe, when she was alone, when people obeyed her instead of announcing to her their plans. Only it hadn’t been happier, she had dreamt of a family since she was that stupid girl, now she was finally having it, around her, inside her, she had a family. 

The guards of her chambers opened the door to them and Sansa entered, unable to stifle her smile at the sight of Jon there, relaxed, smiling back at her. She could get used to this image.

He was before her within heartbeats, touching her, kissing her smile until she responded eagerly, they were soon tangled in a kiss as fierce as of that morning. He was backing her to the door until she touched the polished wood, causing her to break the kiss and gasp as Jon’s hands were moving to the skirt of her dress, raising the fabrics up her thighs. Her name whispered from his lips with so much need, so much love, igniting warmth within her. 

Passion and lust were good, awakening but this now was different, deeper, familiar and alien at the same time. She was being loved, realisation took her breath away, along Jon’s kiss, she gasped and put a hand on his shoulder, stilling him the moment he was hoisting her in his arms against the door. Jon had buried his head in Sansa’s neck, kissing and nipping, he stopped and looked at her with worry clouding his eyes, she could only see the man she loved, the man who, no matter where their lives would take them, he was her home and she was his. 

‘We can’t because of the baby?’ he asked all breathless, uncertain and innocent, fighting to restrain himself and his potential disappointment, her safety always coming first for him, Sansa knew. Jon, Aegon, the dragonrider, the man who died, who burnt, who fought and lost and fought again until he found her, the man who deserved it all and took it even if he began from nothing. Her brother, her cousin, her King, her love, soon her husband and father of her child, of course it would have been Jon, brave, gentle and strong. Sansa chuckled, drunk in the feelings that coursed through her heart along her humming blood, shaking her head, taking his lips for another kiss. 

‘Everything is alright,’ she reassured him, herself, the world. ‘Make love to me, please, Jon.’ Sansa added and he couldn’t help but nod and kiss her again, as only a man in love would, only Jon would. 

They were soon moving away from the door, Sansa’s legs wrapped around his hips, his arms holding her body to his, clothes disheveled, ripped threads heard here and there until they were laying on the bed furs, two bodies awfully clothed when all they needed was liberation and completion. 

Jon started with their boots, pulling away Sansa’s first, then his own, kicking them away, only to be followed by his breeches and jerkin and undershirt, peeling off all the layers quickly before he could focus on Sansa’s dress, cords and laces, it was clear he wasn’t sure which were decorative and which practical. Sansa forced herself to stop caressing, touching, gripping at his muscled body to aid him as he was turning desperate. Sansa should start making less elaborate dresses if she was to spend the rest of her life with Jon, a small price to pay, she thought with a settling feeling inside her heart. 

The dress was soon opening on the front, revealing her shift, she realised her crown was still on her head, heavy and slightly biting into her scalp after so many hours, she didn’t remove it, he had asked for it. 

‘Sansa…’ her name had been spoken by enemies, by friends and family, but only from Jon’s lips, it sounded like a prayer, breathless and whispered, invoking all the love she had for him, all her being belonging to him. 

He held her close to him, her shift beneath the dress sheer enough for Jon to have a good view of her hardening nipples, his hands were soon pushing the fabric upwards her heaving body beneath him, taking it off her easily, goosebumps broke on her skin, Sansa shivered and moaned as Jon’s mouth engulfed one of the rosy tips, sucking gently. 

‘Jon…’ his grin from her breast was wolfish, teeth grazing her nipple, his hands worshiping her body before he released her breast to go South. 

‘My Queen,’ his eyes darted to the crown upon her head, the crown that once would have belonged to him, the crown that she took for herself when the world was collapsing around them. ‘My love,’ Jon reached her belly, kissing the small swell, his lips touching next to her navel, a spot clear of scars in the sea of them, her heart kicked in her ribcage. Sansa felt her eyes prinkling with tears, she loved Jon, she loved what they had, what they were to achieve. ‘My Sansa,’ he added as he kissed her hipbone and gently parted her legs, he left a trail of kisses and teeth grazing on the inside of her thighs, his lips upon her slit causing her to moan in pleasure, tears and the weight of the world forgotten. 

The crown remained on Sansa’s head as her body arched, Jon’s lips and tongue were magic on her clit and bellow, licking at her cunt relentlessly. She groaned when he inserted one finger, sucking at her clit, her hands feasting at the furs, her body writhing in pleasure. She was reaching her peak abruptly, quicker than she ever had before, her left hand reaching for his hair, pulling at the bun on the back of it to run her fingers in his raven black curls, hoping their child would inherit them. 

She was loud, not caring to be heard for the first time in the moons of their relationship. The truth was out, Winterfell had been used to listening to its Lady crying out in pain while under Bolton rule, now it was time to know their Queen was happy under Stark dominance. 

She was left breathless when Jon’s lips were done with their ministrations on her cunt. He climbed back up, until they were face to face, his hands on each side of her head, looking down at her with stormy eyes fixed upon, his beard glistening with her juices, her own forehead sweaty and blushed, like her collarbone and neck. 

‘You’re alright?’ Jon asked in a soft, out of breath whisper, seeking reassurance, allowance. Sansa smiled, tracing his cheek with the hand that previously held onto his hair. 

‘More than…’ Sansa whispered back, smiling up at him who nodded and reached for her leg, guiding it close to his waist by the knee, opening Sansa wider for him to settle in the cradle of her wet thighs. Sansa held on to Jon's shoulders as he pushed slowly inside her, she yelped, gasping as she adjusted, his cock hard and stretching her. Sansa was soon reaching to kiss and bite at his neck, gasping his name against his skin. 

They met thrust for thrust, Sansa’s body hummed with pleasure, pooling low in her belly, her gasps and moans urging Jon to go faster until they were almost desperate against each other, unable to stop as their moans and cries were muffled by their kisses. 

Sansa fell over the edge first, at first silent, stunt as wave after wave; white hot bliss shook her body until her moans formed on their own, her body milking his, her arms wrapping tighter around Jon, lost in his heated gaze as he too followed short after, thrusting and staying deep inside her as he spilled his seed with Sansa’s name in a whimper of pleasure upon his lips. 

They both collapsed on the bed shortly after, her crown finally falling on the furs, semi tangled in Sansa’s messy sea of copper that escaped its hold. Jon rested on his side, his head still buried in her sweaty neck as one of her arms folded around his shoulders, his lips kissing the salty taste of her skin as his hand rested upon her belly, for now covering the entire swell with his palm, gently caressing the spot, making sure. 

She didn’t reassure him once again, he knew she was alright, she knew it too, more than alright. They were in Winterfell, in their bed, with their baby in her belly but as they both settled, they came to realise that no matter where they would end up, ever since they reunited in Castle Black, they were each other’s home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa's pov came after Jon and Arya's and many things happened during theirs so I needed a big chapter for everything Sansa sees and feels and needs and achieves and our girl here did so much. she plays the game and tames the dragon by her side, she acts the Queen she is and she's an awesome aunta who adores her baby nephew and almost accepts Gendry because she needs him there and makes love to the man she adores and realises a few things every person does when in a meaningful relationship. I hope you all enjoyed the chapter, I didn't stay too long on the tournament because I wanted mainly sansa reflecting on everyting around her so I hope that's ok with you  
> thank you very much, comments are love and motivation and I need both ;)


	29. Jon XIV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter did whatever it wanted on its own and took no hostages but the plot of the rest of the story....

_Chapter Twenty Nine - Jon XIV_

_"I'm not going to swear an oath I can't uphold. When enough people make false promises, words stop meaning anything."_

Jon’s fingers tightened on Sansa’s hip as he stirred awake, he blinked slowly at the dim light coming through the window, his senses overwhelmed as for the first time, he woke up with her in the Queen’s chambers. The castle and the courtyard were silent, everyone still slept after the celebrations of the previous night. 

He revelled in the lack of noise, his eyes still heavy from sleep, his gaze travelled upon his hand, he remained on his side next to Sansa who was asleep on her back. The copper sea of her hair was sprawled over the pillows, catching the dawn in their fire. Jon felt his heart swelling as he kept his arm draped over her body, his hand moving slightly from her hipbone to her belly. 

Right there, hard and round, precious beyond measure or price, their babe folded inside Sansa’s womb, as peaceful the mother.

A Stark Mother, a Targaryen Father, a Tournament, the Kingdoms at the edge of war. Jon had vowed many things and he had broken as many oaths, vows and promises, to Gods and men alike. But this time he would keep his promise to himself, the Kingdoms, his and Sansa’s; wouldn’t bleed like they did for his parents. The Starks and the Targaryens would bring peace upon the land, he would bleed for them all. It wouldn’t be the first time and he wouldn’t regret it either. 

He had Sansa by his side, their babe too, to fight for, that made it all worth it. He had a purpose, he had made a choice and many mistakes but he would reach his goal, he would have it all, properly and if not peacefully; at least justly. 

‘You’re sulking and it’s too early for that.’ Sansa’s sleepy voice snapped him out of his thoughts, causing him to smile, chuckle and lean in for a kiss; gathering Sansa in his arms and tugging her closer to him. 

‘You’re showing,’ he whispered tenderly when their kiss was over, Sansa looked down and then back in Jon’s eyes. 

‘Only when I’m on my back,’ Sansa admitted shyly. ‘And only to you.’ she added and Jon smiled and leaned in for another kiss, or more than one as he started for her jaw and moved to her collarbone. 

‘I can’t wait to see you heavy and round with our babe,’ his words were a whisper but the hard silence that encountered them had him raising his head to look at Sansa who had stiffened in his arms, he hated that look in her eyes, fear and worry didn’t suit his she-wolf, especially when she darkened her gaze for him. He had seen that look too many times in the past, from the moment he announced his descend to Dragonstone to be exact. ‘Talk to me,’ he urged gently, knowing they had to use their words, they had made leaps forward already, they had to remain on the same page if they wished to share a life among each other. 

‘I’m scared,’ Sansa whispered and Jon couldn’t help the lurch of emotion within his chest as he raised to his elbow, pushing Sansa back on her back, his hand that hadn’t left her belly for all that time reached her face, cupping her jaw tenderly, his thumb brushing on the fair skin of her cheek. She had spoken once bitterly about her face being the only place she wasn’t scarred and spoiled, he couldn’t have disagreed more, she was perfect. All curves and jagged edges, but she was just like him, his kin, his kind and he might have been spoiled and brought back from the remains twice over; but Sansa was constant, her body and soul a map of their past, present and future. 

‘Sansa…’ her name had been his strength, his anchor, his only true prayer. Sansa caught his hand on her face. 

‘What reassurance can we give each other, after all the times we’ve failed?’ she was desperate for some kind of solace, he could see, _feel_ her need for it. He knew he could only promise through rage and anger against their enemies. He had declared his intentions, time ans time again, he had screamed and snarled his goals. But what would he promise? Yes, he had a dragon and a vengeance, and their enemies knew of both, of his and Sansa’s babe as well, thanks to his hot temper. What could he tell Sansa to put her mind at ease, for her heart not to go faster while he’ll be away. He hated that old feeling, that knot in his stomach, the weight in his heart, fear, he had felt it rarely ever since he came out of that pyre in Volantis. Once, when Sansa threatened him she would slip through his fingers and throw herself from the highest tower of the Red Keep, then at the Twins, when that blade was so close to her, now again, as Jon realised that whatever happened to Sansa would happen to their babe too. 

He also knew that whatever happened to him would impact Sansa and that very babe as well. Seven Kingdoms and the North, vast and full of enemies, enemies he had yet to purge for their betrayals, enemies that would throw the realms in discord if he the equaliser he wished for Drogon to impose were gone. He and Sansa had to rule together, he was born in the South, she was born there, in this very room, they had to find a way. He would be the sword and shield while she would be the heart and mind. They needed each other and the Kingdoms needed them both. 

‘Aye, we’re not good at vows and oaths to each other, or to anyone else for that matter,’ Jon whispered, nodding his head, his calloused fingers still tracing soft patterns on her neck and collarbone. ‘But maybe we can make a fresh start before someone else, make our words mean something again.’ Jon added softly, voice gruff, his eyes never leaving Sansa’s as he moved down her body until he knelt between her legs, nestling there as his elbows held him above her middle, his palms touching upon her belly. Sansa’s hand held at his shoulder, her eyes watching him as he leaned in and kissed the spot bellow her navel. ‘Right here?’ Jon asked in a whisper and Sansa nodded, muted, unable to say a word as her eyes had filled with tears. Jon looked down at the small cutting scar on the skin, pecked it once, searching for the words towards their child, his own heart kicking in hope this time, in terror and joy, his child. 

‘Aye, err.. Little one, I’m your Papa and I promise, I _vow_ to you, by the old Gods and the New, the Many and the One, whoever rules over the bloody heavens and hells of this world, that I will fight each and every enemy of your Moma’s and mine. I promise I will protect you and come back for you and Moma to find you both. If I can pride myself on one thing, over all the broken vows and oaths, is that I kept that very promise to your Mother, I will do the same for you, no matter what. I will protect you and come back for you, I promise.’ He kissed the scar again, yes, he would come back to see that spot stretching as Sansa’s belly will grow, he will be there, victorious and at peace at last to welcome their son or daughter to the world. Sansa won’t be left alone again. 

‘Jon…’ Sansa’s tears were falling freely. He couldn’t help but reach for her face, gathering the drops with his fingers. 

‘No tears, no pain… Just promise me, you’ll take care of yourself while I am gone,’ Jon added as Sansa fought for a deep breath and nodded her head, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, holding him to her as he held her tightly in the cruddle of his arms. 

‘I promise,’ she whispered sincerely.

The Tournament was hours away, the next day they would be getting married and then the act before Kinvara could finally be dropped. Sansa had been practical about it, quick and efficient, she had also been twice married by the main faiths of South and North. He had hoped for something different, something happier for them both instead of a rushed spectacle but as he held her in his embrace, her warmth seeping through to his heart,, their babe tucked safely within her, he realised he didn’t care, even a secret marriage like that of his own parents would have done the job, as long as their child was established. 

But no, he wasn’t on the run, he was the predator. He wasn’t unlawful or sinful, at least not in that regard, not in anything that had to do with Sansa and himself and the child made of them. Their marriage would be known, celebrated, even if it felt different from whatever he would have imagined. The Godswood and the weeping tree had always been a vague idea and image in that poor bastard’s head, a beautiful bride by his side, always faceless as he never dared to picture the woman condemned to marry a Snow, all he knew was that in his dreams, she always had fire-kissed hair. He would have thought once it would have been Ygritte, but that was in another lifetime, drowned in misery and deprivation, in shame and escapism. Now he was there, the master of himself and his kingdoms and Sansa was the right woman, the right Queen by his side, their child and heir already growing inside her, not another bastard named Snow, but a legitimate princess or prince, a dragonwolf. 

Born of a Stark Mother and a Targaryen Father, just like himself, only with parents smarter and braver, realistic and ruthless when need be. 

Yes, their child would be luckier than himself; luckier than Sansa for that matter too. All their children would be happy. 

The knocks at the door broke their privacy, yet they remained familiar and calm, belonging in those chambers, on that bed, in each other’s arms. Gasps and apologies from the Queen’s maids were heard from the solar as the girls noticed the naked monarchs at the depths of the chambers, stumbling out of the room, leaving whatever gowns and water for Sansa hastily behind them. Jon and Sansa smiled at each other, calmed, unafraid, his stupid declaration of her pregnancy, the news of their engagment had their good side too. They had no need to hide anymore, this was their home, temporary or not as rulers of Westeros, it didn’t matter, they were home. 

‘The final day of the Tournament,’ Sansa pointed out, Jon nodded. 

‘And on the morrow… Our wedding.’ Jon added, in a matter-of-fact tone, the alleviation of all the wars past, Westeros would at last be united, damn the vipers of the South and the unyielding Lords of the North, Westeros wouldn’t tear at its own flesh again, he and Sansa would make sure of it. Sansa smiled and he was only happy to see the joy shining in her eyes, he was the reason for that joy, there was no bigger accomplishment than that. 

‘The Martell Prince won’t be happy with the raven sent shortly after, notifying him I’m his Queen…’ Sansa pointed out and Jon could only chuckle darkly. 

‘Believe me, my love, he won’t get the chance to feign pleasantries and bows to you.’ Jon informed her, causing her to frown in wonder of what he meant. Essos wouldn’t be the only place he’d fight, once he was done with the foreigners, he would fly to King’s Landing. Cersei had taught Sansa well and she had done the same with Jon in her turn. Martell would go down once and for all and Dorne would be given the chance to raise another House in power to represent the kingdom. He couldn’t mend atrocities of centuries even if he tried by appointing the last Martell as his Hand, he could only stop the blood with one final strike and start fresh, like he had done with the Iron Islands, the Reach and the Westerlands. 

‘Don’t turn Dorne against you,’ Sansa warned, Jon smiled and kissed her lips. 

‘Ironically, I was born in Dorne, Sansa... I will remind them that and give the Dornish the chance to stop following a house that has fallen long ago yet still try to bite the feet of others with their final breath…’ Targaryens and Martells were as persisting in surviving as the Starks, yet it seemed that under Targaryen rule, his rule; one house would have to cease to exist, and that certainly wasn’t the Northern direwolves. 

Jon and Sansa dressed for the day, Sansa in a dark grey dress and Jon in his dragonglass armor, ready to join the final day of the jousting Tournament, the celebrations would continue for days, their wedding the next day giving the perfect reason for them to. They were about to exit the Queen’s chambers to break their fast with the countless honored guests from across Westeros in the Great Hall when there was a knock on the door of the solar. Sansa replied and soon Gendry Baratheon was entering the chambers, head held high, yet bowing to them both the moment he presented himself. 

They had found themselves in a completely different situation, months back, in the dragonpit’s tunnel where Gendry had gripped Sansa by the arms and Jon had been half a heartbeat away from cutting it off. Now they stood with new boundaries set between them, marked in stark colors for all of them to see. Arya hadn’t followed Gendry for that private audience and Jon could imagine she had remained in her chambers with Rickard, of course, the position of the mother had been filled after years and Sansa was doing an amazing job at stepping down and letting go of the possessiveness over her only relative as of a few months back. 

‘My Queen, my Liege,’ Gendry started officially, this was not a private audience of small significance, Jon could see that. Sansa seemed surprised but not shocked to see him there. He looked at Gendry and nodded his head. 

‘Lord Baratheon,’ it was just a day ago when they were shaking hands before they could joust against each other, and they would do the same later that day. Jon remained calm but watchful as the man before him had a son with Jon’s considered sister and had been in constant dispute over that son with Sansa. It was a lifetime ago when they fought together against the wrights, a lifetime back when they were both bastards in that world, used by Red Priestesses and with lives thrown in the spins. 

‘I am here to declare my abdication of the titles given to me by Daenerys Targaryen and rights to the Kingdom of the Stormlands, my King.’ Gendry cut to the chase, his words sending Jon’s mind into overdrive. 

Another opening for discord in one of his kingdoms, maybe greater than the one existing because of the Baratheon rule there. Another chance for a family raising to power and owing Jon everything, keeping the Kingdom in his rule forever. A Baratheon had once rebelled against a Targaryen, for a Stark, now the ruling heads of all three houses remained calm and civilised within the same chamber, speaking kindly and formally to each other. Yes, they were better than their ancestors and parents, all of them. 

‘What of your name, my Lord?’ Jon asked, he had shared bad bread and freezing cold with the man before him, now he would give him an opening to a better life as a reward for the royalty when brothers of the watch betrayed and killed him. 

‘My father’s name was given to me by a Targaryen who first reminded me of my father’s actions against House Targaryen.’ Gendry began slowly, arms held behind his back, tone steady, he had come to a conclusion after a lot of thought, Jon could see that. ‘Back then, I believed it was an honor, the biggest of my life, but slowly I came to realise it was a curse, taking me to a place I had never been before to rule upon it, among people who saw me for what I was, a bastard son legitimised by the Dragon Queen they hate so much…’ Gendry’s words were calm but Jon could see the stiffness in his posture, the pain of all his failures, he had struggled, before and after his ascend, he had buried a wife and a child while another woman and their child existed across the world from him. 

‘And what of your son, my Lord?’ Jon kept the title in his words, he knew he could until he accepted the abdication, if he did, first he had to make sure of the intentions, he had to protect the child Sansa had done so much for, maybe even more than his own parents. Jon wouldn’t accept any more betrayals by strangers or known faces. 

‘My son was never formally claimed by me, my King. All I ever wanted was to have him with me since his mother was away. I was desperate to have something of my own, something of Arya’s…’ the honest took Jon aback, a positive, welcome feeling. ‘Yet, even in that despair, logic prevented me from claiming him from Queen Sansa and condemning him to the same fate as mine in the Stormlands.’ Gendry this time looked at Sansa who remained silent and waited with Jon. Anyone else would be seeing an icy mask but Jon could see the triumph, the calmness that coursed through Sansa’s being over the dispute ending after so long. ‘Rickard belongs in the North, as the next King of the independent kingdom.’ Gendry declared, solely looking at Sansa, giving in at last. ‘And he belongs with his parents to be happy and safe.’ he added, still looking at Sansa, paving the path for what he wished to accomplish. ‘If Queen Sansa allows it, as Gendry Waters, I wish I would be able to remain here in the North, with Rickard and Arya, to see him grow to become the man he’s destined to be.’ Gendry added and Sansa glanced at Jon who nodded. Gendry’s power resided upon Jon, but his fate over his son resided with Sansa. And Sansa was compassionate in spite of her cruel tutors. 

‘The laws in the North allow noble women to give their names to their lowborn husbands, if they wish to take the wife’s name.’ Sansa’s words were soft, warm, she would never harm her sister’s happiness, nor her nephew’s, no matter the blows Sansa had suffered, she always gave people a choice. They were making the rules; and history, in that very chamber, whatever was decided would finally be set in motion for their happiness, old spites and blood spilled forgotten. 

‘Do laws in the North make the Queen command her sister to marry? Because I had been turned down once already,’ Gendry offered, a smile finally gracing his hard features. Sansa smiled, looking down, considering her strategy. 

‘They certainly give me power to command the Princess to _consider_ it at least.’ Sansa offered and both Gendry and Jon stifled their smiles, the trio in the chambers knowing of Arya Stark’s stubbornness. Gendry sobered and looked at Jon, waiting for an answer now that he had come clean of his intentions. 

‘You will fight with your banners today, Southern and Northern Lords have the hems of their cloaks twisted for the upcoming Summer as it is, with our marriage and the news of our child being on the way.’ Jon stated and Gendry nodded. ‘The Stormlands are the perfect rallying point for me and Drogon to attack the Unsullied. They’re also the first stronghold the Essosi would reach if they were to pass by me. I need it under your rule for now, otherwise by the time the attack from Essos is over, your Stormlanders will be in civil war with you down and my absence at War.’ Gendry nodded again, agreeing with the strategy. ‘ I only know Brienne of Tarth and you from that Kingdom. I trust in your council over which house should take the reins.’ Jon added, offering an opening of counselling he was certain he needed and Sansa appreciated. 

‘There are many good people in the Stormlands, King Aegon.’ Gendry reassured and Jon nodded. 

‘I’m sure of that, one of them will have their house ascend and since Queen Sansa allows it, during and after my absence, I need you to stay here and make sure House Stark is safe.’ Jon added and Gendry bowed. 

‘With my life, my King.’ Gendry promised and finally reached closer, offering his hand to his king, Jon accepted the handshake, sealing their agreement for the future. Gendry then turned towards Sansa, bowing and asking for her hand to which she gave willingly. 

‘I owe you many apologies over my behavior in the past years.’ Gendry offered softly. ‘I will make up for my persistence and manners, my Queen.’ he added, Sansa nodded her head as he held her hand, the direwolf adorning her ring. 

‘We had our differences,’ Sansa admitted. ‘But Rickard’s best interest was in our hearts, that’s what family does… If I can judge you for that and pass a sentence to you I will try to talk my sister into marrying you. If Arya accepts, well... consider yourself punished for life.’ Sansa added and Gendry grinned and nodded as he took a step back. 

‘That would be condemn of the sweetest kind.’ Gendry commented upon his doom and Sansa shook her head as he thanked them and excused himself to take his leave. 

‘He’s so much in love with her, the poor fool.’ Sansa commented gently once the door was closed and Jon and Sansa were left in their chambers alone. 

‘Our sister is a bigger fool if she keeps him at arms’ length all her life.’ Jon admitted, no matter how hard it was to find fault in his sister, Arya shrouded fear with freedom but slowly the veils were falling, one after the other, for all of them. 

The rest of the day and the end of the Tournament came in a fuzz of activity. Lords from across the South and the North hailed for Jon who won the Tournament and before everyone, gave the price to Sansa’s hands who was to be his bride to be. He glanced at Kinvara the moment he did, suspicious eyes met his, the next morning she was to be invoking her God to stand witness of their union, a union already blessed with a fruit out of it. Then, her purpose would be fulfilled and Sansa -who remained on Kivara’s good side- would order for her arrest in the crime of sorcery. Lords had come whispering, under the priestess’ nose and in to the Queen’s expectant and watchful ear of the crime, Lord Glover seemed more off every day. Kinvara’s powers were off, maybe she indeed even her God had abandoned her. Jon didn’t care, he only cared for the Queen by his side. 

_“We both serve the same lord.’’_ Beric Dondarion’s words echoed in his mind as Jon reached Sansa, still in his armor, her eyes were joyous as she stood clapping for him, the image of beauty before him, icy eyes and kissed by fire hair, she was his true price for the Tournament of Ice and Fire. 

“ _I serve the North,’_ his own reply retrieved itself from the past as he now reached Sansa’s hand and kissed it before they could both face their people who cheered for the two of them. 

_“The North is part of me,’’_

_“Until I return, the North is yours.’_

_“The North is free thanks to you.”_

_“But they lost their King.”_

_“Ned Stark’s daughter will speak for them… she’s the best they could ask for.”_

Jon turned his head and looked at the woman who was to be his wife, the mother of his children, Sansa, his forever. The wedding tomorrow would be an affair of politics, from start to finish, he loved that woman, they both deserved a union made of their culture before they were to descend from Winterfell for whatever Keep would welcome their Targaryen child. They had given up so much for the good of the Kingdoms, now, this loss, of the home they fought so hard for would be bloodless but the most painful of them all. They deserved a proper memory of it, a proper farewell to their old life before the new start could happen. 

Everyone started for the castle, like the previous night for the festivities, when people drink the Gods are forgotten, along their commitment for a life of no passions. Jon counted on that as he held Sansa’s hand and followed the crowd along their guard. Gendry, Rickard in his arms and Arya by his side tailed them, a newly formed family, a pack so odd with wolfsblood mingled with dragon fire and stag antlers. Jon leaned closer to Arya, whispering his quickly formed plan, she nodded and continued walking, reaching Brienne to talk to her, the tall woman with her turn spoke to the Commanders of the Queen’s guard that escorted them. Jon tugged Sansa’s hand, taking her off the path to the castle and towards the Godswood, where two guards stood at its gate. Sansa watched Jon with curious eyes but said nothing as he continued, still clang in his armor while she had draped a small wolf fur over her shoulders, Spring nights were still crisp, even without snow falling and frost coating everything. 

Jon dismissed the guards, only half lying of praying before the wedding tomorrow. The men would spread the beneficial gossip of the monarchs holding the old Gods in their hearts even if to be married under the Lord of Light, through alcohol some small legend would be made that night of them and their ancestors reaching Winterfell from the crypts to witness the Dragonking and the Wolfqueen getting married. 

‘Where are we going?’ Sansa asked and Jon smiled, walking deeper into the woods, both knowing the path to the weirwood by heart. 

‘We haven’t been here since you learnt the truth.’ Jon offered softly, Sansa nodded. The scenery around them was so different now from that day, the snow had melted, the humidity from the hot springs further in the Godswood made the greenery wild and fog to surround them both, the stars high above them and the waxing moon providing enough light for them to walk the familiar ground. The fragrance of the wet, fertile earth and the flowers made them both inhale through their noses, before Winter came, they had been used to the Godswood like that in their childhood. 

Jon saw the tree, beautiful and white among the rest of the grove. The lake at its roots, stemming from the hot spring beneath was now unfrozen and lined with peebles and stones, outlining its shape beautifully. He smiled at Sansa who smiled back. 

‘I had to create a sort of barrier for the spring the moment Rickard was able to walk on his own, I brought him here quite often, he actually stood on his feet right here.’ Sansa commented on the slight change and Jon only nodded, suddenly curious and impatient to see her bright smile of pride the day their own child will stand on his or her feet. 

‘I love it,’ Jon whispered, nodding as he looked at the small lake again. He would build her a Godswood, wherever they were to live, like her father did for his mother with the small Sept of the Seven, if Sansa wished so, he would built her Godswoods and Septs and Palaces, Harrenhall was only the beginning of the honours he planned on giving her. ‘And I love you.’ he added as he brought her close to him, his arms wrapping around her, lips reaching hers for a kiss before the weeping face. Sansa responded eagerly, happy, joyous in the place they always sneaked in to find some peace of mind. When the kiss was over, Jon looked deep into Sansa’s eyes, her dress was beautiful, she would have been beautiful even with a rug around her, he wore his armor, he couldn’t care less after all. 

‘Who comes before the old Gods tonight?’ Jon asked and Sansa’s eyes shone with realisation, her gaze darted from Jon to the weirwood and back to him again before she could take a deep breath. The Past forgotten, they were making their fate, with their own rules. 

‘Sansa of House Stark, comes to be wed, a woman fully grown and blossomed, trueborn and noble, a Queen to her lands and Lady beyond them. She comes not to beg the blessings of the Gods, for she already has them in her womb, but she stands happy and ready to have them witness her union.’ Sansa replied, voice steady, happy, her body relaxed, she had left everything behind, years back, the Godswood had witnessed to many tragedies, from her wedding to the death of Theon, now it was time for happiness to take place. ‘Who comes to claim her?’ she asked in her turn, they would represent themselves before the Gods, like they did with their deeds, right or wrong. 

‘Aegon of House Targaryen, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms,’ they stood under the stark red leaves, a dragon and a she-wolf. ‘Who gives her?’ Jon added, smiling at his beloved. 

‘She gives herself willingly, a woman free to choose and to love,’ Sansa replied and they smiled encouragingly at each other, yes, her third marriage was her choice, her first love too. 

‘My Queen,’ Jon’s voice was heavy with emotion as he declared her for what she always had been, those words resurrecting themselves for what they were. ‘Will you take me, Aegon Targaryen, a man with faults and a temper, a man who adores you and will cherish you with all his heart for the rest of his days?’ Jon asked calmly, knowing her answer and yet anticipating in sweet terror for the words from her lips to finalise their union. 

‘I take you to be my lawful Lord husband and King. I promise to love and support and keep you happy, for now and for always.’ Sansa replied, unable to stop her smile from her face as Jon tugged her closer, his armor preventing their fronts from touching. 

‘For now and for always.’ Jon echoed her last words, their lips connecting to a kiss of love. 

Sansa’s fingers were skillful, of that Jon could swear upon, but still he was surprised the moment she was tugging his breastplate off him, somehow having undo the cords holding it upon him. He helped her with the heavy material, discarding it quickly. His own fingers delving into her beautiful braid, pulling slightly at the lace holding it, his fingers digging into the sophisticated tying until it fell in waves around her. His hands were soon reaching the side, where he had seen the way she had been clothed by the blushing maides that had returned to help their Queen. He knew how to do it now, vowing to himself to become more efficient in the future. 

They had their future after all. 

Sansa shivered the moment her dress pooled at her feet along her fur, Jon noticed, protectively, in instinct, his hand moved to her belly before he could wrap his arm around her, the corner of his eyes caught the steaming spring. 

He took off the jerkin he had underneath the armor and his breeches, they laughed as they kicked off their boots, holding at each other for support as Jon had left in a linen shirt and the smallclothes Sansa pulled down impatiently, all the while her hands roaming on his body, igniting that tightening he felt only for her in his groin. He didn’t miss that despite the heat between them, she shivered once again even if she stil wore her undershift. 

Instead of taking her in his arms, hoisting her against his body, maybe setting her against the weiwood itself to make her his once more. He took her hand, tugging her towards the lake. Her questioning eyes soon filled with appreciation, heat and desire at his idea as he lowered himself first in the warm water. The pond was shallow, the water reaching his chest, its bottom hot and soft, bubbles and a current coursing through the mud. He opened his arms for Sansa to take, helping her in the water, she shivered violently and gasped at the temperature, her shift and hair dancing around her, she looked like a nymph, a goddess even. She laughed and squealed as he pulled her towards him, the bloody armor was at last gone and he could crush her against him without fear of harming her. She was soon wrapping her legs around him, bodies colliding with each other as Jon moved them towards the edge of the lake for leverage. His steps uneasy and stumbling as Sansa kissed him fiercely, grinding her warm cunt against his hard cock. Their relationship was a hard fleeting thing to follow, one moment they were planning the future of the world, the next they were sneaking in the Godswood to get married in secret before their actual wedding, to make love before their Gods, what other saw as blasphemy, Jon and Sansa saw as something sacred. 

‘I love you, Sansa.’ Jon whispered as he trapped her body between his and the wall of the pond, steading her hips to enter her in a swift thrust, making her gasp and purr in his arms, driving him crazy as she moved her body against his, the water making her lighter. 

‘Aegon, I love you,’ she had used his name before, at the start of the frenzied life in common as lovers, he felt hardening even more inside her, his thrusts growing deeper as he readjusted her hips around him to open her further for him. Sansa’s hair covered the wet shift at her breasts, her nipples still outlined with every move out of the water. 

‘Again,’ he demanded darkly, she moaned.

‘Aegon!’ Sansa whispered his name, breathless and beautiful, just as he liked.

‘So beautiful, oh Gods, oh, so beautiful, Sansa and hot and tight,’ Jon couldn’t help himself but express his worship of her body in a groan of passion, his thrusts quick and forceful in the water. Sansa moaned her own pleasure and sweet agony as he reached for the back of her hair, grasping at her hair, tugging hard enough to earn a gasp, she gifted him with a moan too. 

‘Yes...Aegon, my love,’ Sansa gasped their lips brushing against each other with every thrust, the water splashing around them. ‘Don’t stop, please don’t stop, husband.’ she begged, growing close faster than he ever remembered her reaching the peak, just as quickly as he did at the mention of her last word. Husband. 

He was hers and she was his. 

‘Sansa…’ he couldn’t form more words as he felt his wife, his wife, fluttering around his cock, her body aching, the hard swell pressing against his own stomach as Sansa reached her peak first, moaning incoherently as he kept thrusting inside her until he felt his breath caught in his throat and the hot coil snapping inside him. 

‘Inside me,’ Sansa begged breathlessly, holding him as he spilled deep within her. He loved his Targaryen name upon her lips, she loved him spilling in, as Jon breathlessly pulled out, gathered Sansa in his arms and glanced at the weirwood; he knew, they would be blessed with many children. 

They remained in silence, still wrapped in each other’s arms, the water around them cleaning them of sweat and the day as they remained bare and entangled before the Gods to catch their breaths. Sansa’s arms had wrapped around his shoulders, their foreheads resting against each other, small kisses exchanged, noses brushing, the aftermath every couple deserved. 

‘Jon… Sansa…’ Arya’s voice, announcing her presence, pulled them out of their moment of peace. Jon pulled lowered himself and Sansa slightly deeper in the pull to hide their bodies from their sister who reached upon them, a frown etched across her face that was clearly made from a burden greater than the sight of her siblings; moments after their lovemaking. Something had brought her here and it couldn’t be good if it couldn’t have waited a little longer. 

Sansa mirrored Arya’s frown and Jon’s darkened gaze, waiting for the news her sister bore. Arya didn’t seem surprised to find them in the spring, or she didn’t care at all before the reason bringing her there. 

‘A raven came.’ Arya started, not missing a heartbeat before continuing as she stood a couple of feet from the spring. ‘Daario Naharis made a pact with the Unsullied, they declared war upon Westeros and are sailing towards Dorne to torch the birthplace of Aegon Targaryen first.’ Arya’s words had Sansa’s arms wrapping tighter around Jon’s shoulders as he felt his stomach dropping both in terror and anticipation.

It was time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Jon vowing to his child instead of Sansa was life for me and I needed a break after writing down the scene  
> *Gendry and Jonsa had to put some things straight and I think just as much as jonsa, gendrya were thrown under the bus in s8 and I will never forget D&D for fucking up not one but ALL my ships (including Jamie-Cersei who died by a bunch of bricks *breaks pencil*)  
> *the Tournament was bypassed because we saw the start of it and basically medieval stupid near-death-fun exhausts me  
> *the Godswood wedding was one of the first things I had decided that would happen in this fic when I was planning it and daydreamed about it like from chap2 or something when they were slapping and grabbing each other lol  
> *The war is upon us and although Jon hoped to reach them from the Stormlands, the fuckers are going South, why? we'll see soon!  
> thank you for reading! comments are love and life!!!!


	30. Sansa XV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 30, wow, how for we have come, thank you for reading!

Chapter Thirty - Sansa XV

_Family Duty Honour_

Sansa didn’t remember any embarrassment or remorse as she climbed out of the small pond with Jon while Arya looked away. She didn’t recall any chill from the night upon the Godswood creeping into her skin, nor she noticed the tremble of her hands while she tied the ribbons and cords of her dress and boots, her hair wet beyond salvation as she held them back. 

The only thing she could remember, notice and actually _feel_ was that heavy weight on her chest, the knot in her stomach, that had been there only thrice before, while she had been informed of her family’s demise at the Twins, when she had been sold to the Boltons, and when she watched Jon returning to Winterfell with the Dragon Queen by his side. 

Her feet led her among her family, the celebration had been cut off swiftly, the news spreading throughout Winterfell. Ravens would be sent across the continent, from Sunspear to Casterly Rock and from there to Storm’s End. War had been declared to Westeros, for Jon’s return, for Aegon Targaryen’s restoration and it would be him who would fight that war, he and his dragon alone, while she would stay behind with his child in her womb, hoping for the best. 

She felt like screaming, like breaking down as they moved inside the castle, her clothes clinging to her still dump skin, the cold finally seeping through along the realisation of what was happening and what was about to happen.

Sansa had promised herself, she had promised Jon and all the Gods they wouldn’t become another Lyanna and Rheagar, the people wouldn’t suffer for them, not any longer at least. Thousands had pledged to their causes, their families’ names, and thousands had fallen for them. 

People with military power, representing every corner of the continent, already attending the Tournament were gathering in the Council Room, where once, she had stood up to Daenerys Targaryen. Now married to another member of the House, belonging to it, along with her child, Sansa stood muted as people threw themselves into conversation about strategies. 

Arya was on her left, Jon on her right, Sansa felt as if she was watching from outside her body. Unable to speak, what to say after all, she had no idea about battles. Her knowledge covered only the field of the existence of blood and gore in them. This time, if there was blood to be shed, it could be Jon’s. If the Gods were to be as cruel as Cersei Lannister had once reassured her to be, Jon could never meet their babe, just like Rhaegar Targaryen with his half-Stark child. 

Sansa’s tongue felt heavy, her eyes stung with tears, everyone but Arya and Jon himself avoided her gaze in the room. They all knew, they all understood, Sansa could end up alone, two armies against one man and his dragon. During the Dance of Dragons, the beasts had fallen like flies, the beast was no guarantee for any of them no matter how much Jon valued Balerion as his ultimate weapon. But what choice did they have, the armies of Westeros were still small and recovering from the wars of the years past, they would need months to reach Dorne while only weeks away, the enemy ships would be reaching the shores.

There was talking about the strange journey the enemy ships were making. The ships from Naath should have reached the Bay of Dragons -as Slaver’s Bay had been retitled by Daenerys Targaryen- and then go straight up the Narrow Sea to Blackwater Bay to reach King’s Landing, Jon’s seat of Power, a city the Unsullied at least had learnt. Instead, they were going to attack Sunspear, faster to strike Westeros but miles away from the Capital of the Seven Kingdoms. 

‘This makes no sense,’ Sansa found her voice as her eyes laid upon the Martell symbol at the bottom of the map of Westeros her allies had spread before them. Everyone turned and looked at her.

‘They wish to hit Dorne, your Majesty, the birthplace of his Grace.’ Edgar Hornwood tried to explain but Sansa shook her head at her Queen's Guards Commander, turning and looking at Jon who sought her council, his gaze expectant. 

‘You have your doubts about Prince Martell, your Hand.’ Sansa stated the common secret, Jon nodded, she could see the flicker in his eyes, the need for a death sentence of the Martell Prince. 

‘If they indeed work with him, or he’s opened the way for them to overthrow you by keeping all his spies idle, if he told them when to strike while you’re at the furthest North… then King’s Landing is obvious and Sunspear will be attacked for Prince Martell to keep the target off his back…’ Sansa explained, Jon nodded, his jaw set, lips a thin line of fury. ‘That; and if your enemies strike Dorne, because _you_ returned, a son for whom Dorne didn’t only bleed but also was humiliated through Elia Martell’s fate… then Dorne’s annexation to the Crown will be an impossibility for the rest of time, let alone to the Crown of a Targaryen either if that is you or our child…’ Sansa added, to her, the truth was crystal clear in her mind. She had seen human shields before, had been one for the Boltons to rule over Winterfell and the North.

Manfrey Martell had been given a chance as hand of the King and he had thrown it out the Red Keep’s highest window, he had been alone in King’s Landing for far too long tpo, while Jon tried to gain the trust of the Kingdoms through the tour and the North’s acceptance through the Tournament. Order had to be reestablished or the sacking of Sunspear would lead to a new civil war, civil war she and Bran had avoided throughout the years after the fall of King’s Landing and Jon had prevented by burning Yara Greyjoy upon his return. 

They had promised peace and prosperity to their people with the minimum cost of life. They had to keep that promise and the world that was to be reborn in it. 

‘All harbors of the east will shut down, accepting nothing from the Narrow Sea. Spies and assassins could reach the cities through ships. From White Harbor to Dragonstone and from there down to Sunspear, even to Starfall, the ports will close and the armies of the cities will defend them. The cities will remain fortified until further notice, Winterfell is across the world from them but the Queensguard will keep Queen Sansa, her sister and nephew safe.’ Jon’s words were cold, nothing compared to the whispers of love he had used only with her at the Godswood just awhile ago. Now, he was the dragonrider, the Targaryen King, this was a battle, his element, his field, his command overpowered everything. Sansa, once again could only stand back and watch, play every single possibility in her mind, face every outcome and find a solution to it. 

‘My wedding with Queen Sansa will take place at dawn, then Balerion will be summoned and I will leave the North for Dorne. No one will shed a drop of their blood until I am back, if I don’t come, only then you will defend your cities. Only then, you will go to war, for the continent, for your homes, for the only Queen that will remain standing. Queen Sansa must be protected at all costs.’ Jon added and Sansa felt her tongue heavy with all that she wanted to scream and all the things she wanted to whisper. 

‘Find Kinvara, let her know of the change of plans, after the Wedding, Queen Sansa will command everything as she sees fit,’ Jon added, setting the signal for Kinvara’s capture to Sansa who remained stoic, her eyes lost to the small symbol of the dragon moved by Jon from King’s Landing to Sunspear. 

The enemies would need weeks to reach Dorne, just like Jon would need the same upon Balerion to fly across the continent. Then Jon would have to go to King’s Landing, where Manfrey Martell held the city under his command. Jon couldn’t simply pull out the viper by setting fire to the hole, that place had been through enough, if Jon was to rain fire upon the Red Keep and everyone inside it, the people would revolt and he would end up one and the same with Daenerys Targaryen. No matter how he was going to extract his enemies from the palace his ancestors once made, Sansa only hoped his bloodlust over the constant betrayal and pain wouldn’t take the better of him. He had flown over that city on the back of his dragon when he reached them at the dragonpit, moons back, the people had certainly crawled and feared as they saw the black dragon again. Balerion, once Drogon, had to become a defender of the city and not its destroyer. 

Sansa’s hand reached her belly, her fingers pressing on the small bulge there. She wondered at what stage of her pregnancy she and Jon would see each other again, _if_ they were to see each other again. That “if” twisted in her gut like a knife. He was the greatest swordsman, he was a tactician and he had a dragon, yet Sansa couldn’t help the paralysing fear as it crept through her veins to her heart. 

No, she wouldn’t be left alone in the world, never again. Jon had promised to their child. 

A man was returning soon, interrupting the conversation that had erupted around her about strategies in every city and harbour. 

‘The Red Woman hasn’t been seen for a while, my King, my Queen. People celebrating close to the gates saw her leaving on a horse.’ The guard’s words had Sansa’s eyes drifting close, they were losing control, their enemies spreading across the world while they had to keep everything from falling apart. 

‘No soldier will be wasted in searching for her, send ravens, no city or village is to take her in. I will deal with her once we’re done with greater problems. You’re all dismissed.’ Jon commanded and everyone nodded, leaving for the ravens to be sent, the words to be spread. ‘Come with me, Sansa.’ Jon whispered when Arya sent a reassuring nod their way before she too could exit the room. 

Sansa followed Jon to their chambers, her feet moving on their own accord, Brienne was soon dismissed for the time being too. Dawn and their wedding were nearing, so did the time for Jon’s departure. Sansa felt the tears falling as she at last gave in to her emotions while the door of their chambers closed behind them, Jon held her hand all the while, taking her to the nearest seat where she collapsed with her hands hiding her face while Jon knelt before her. Maybe kneeling for the first time, just like she was crying openly, another first. 

A few hours ago, she was the happiest woman, hope for the future was bright and ensured while in Jon’s arms, now as he was pulling down her own hands gently, she felt the world crumbling around her, beneath her feet. 

‘Sansa…’ Jon’s voice was demanding, yet gentle, more tears fell, making his face less blurry as she looked at him. ‘Please stop crying, we knew this time would come, we knew it, my love,’ Jon’s hands were framing Sansa’s face, holding her to him, their foreheads touching. ‘I will finish this war, I will stop them, I promise.’ he added. Sansa wanted to scream her agony, her words from the past lashing back within her mind. 

_‘No one can protect anyone.’_

‘Listen to me,’ Jon whispered, tugging her head lightly, making her focus. ‘At Castle Black, right before the gates opened for you to get inside…’ Jon recalled the day they had reunited, the happiest of her life, were she honest with herself. ‘I had told my friend Ed that I would go somewhere to get warm… I had been resurrected and had no understanding of that very fact, no purpose, greater or smaller… until you threw yourself in my arms and I knew… that very afternoon, when you told me we had to retake Winterfell… You were my purpose.’ Jon affirmed, smiling at her although his eyes held the same agony as Sansa’s. ‘We retook it and you held at it for dear life thankfully, and now here we are. You rebuilt Winterfell… You dreamt of songs and the castle already has a Starkling in here.’

‘I was stupid dreaming of songs,’ Sansa finally interupted, unable to hold back, they seemed so stupid, so meek before the reality before them. 

‘You dream of songs and make them reality, this is no small achievement, love. You shape our lives… you shape our babe inside you… Sansa, we deserve the peace that is to come, because I will fight for it, I will win that peace.’ Jon promised, one of his hands covering her belly, his hand moving between her lap and breasts as she remained crouched before him. ‘I had promised I would find a way and I think I have found it.’ Jon added and Sansa struggled to focus on him. 

‘Tell me,’ Sansa whispered, she had expected for him to want her in Winterfell to wait. 

‘Once I am done at Dorne, I will let you know. Only then, I need you to move to the Twins, with Brienne and your Queensguard, while Rickard stays here with Arya and Gendry…’ Jon explained and Sansa couldn’t help but sigh, shaking her head. 

She had considered the Twins herself, no matter the ghosts lurking in there, the seat of power was ideal for the King and Queen of the continent, fertile, holding the Keep at its narrowest of the lands, at the actual borderline between the Seven and the North. 

‘The Twins…’ Sansa tried the location on her tongue, her imagination recreating the scenes she had pictured as a little girl, her mother cut to the bone, her brother beheaded, the assasin plunging the knife, Jon’s dark blood seeping through his clothes as he stopped the killer from stabbing her. Jon nodded, a knowing look upon his face. ‘The place mother and Robb were slaughtered,’ Sansa’s whisper was broken, unable to hold it back, Jon frowned in agreement. 

‘The place _we_ conceived _our_ babe,’ he was right, she knew, the maester had predicted the time it happened. Harrenhall had been too soon just like Riverrun and Castle Cerwyn too late after that, the Twins had been the place their child had been created. 

‘You know its significance and power better than I do.’ Jon’s tone was gentle, pleading so. ‘You named Rickard your Heir so we can leave. Moat Cailin can become our child’s Keep in titles while our nephew holds Winterfell and your Kingdom. Sansa, tomorrow, despite it all, you will become the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms… Not next to Joffrey or some other fucking bastard, but next to me… with everything that demands of us both. We need to establish ourselves there, for our rule, for our kingdoms but before all that, for our child.’ Jon added, looking deep into Sansa’s eyes, seeking her understanding. ‘I will make sure no enemy is lurking there, no remaining Freys, nothing. The Tullies would bleed for you and are now loyal to me too, so are the Marbrands. I will command the Knights of the Vale to move there too and guard you until I am back. They will exterminate anyone who wishes to harm you.’ Jon added and Sansa finally nodded, understanding, agreeing. They needed a keep and that place was empty. They needed a stronghold and that place was one of the strongest across the continent. 

‘We’ll make a new start.’ Sansa whispered, Sansa who had once prayed to leave Winterfell, whose destiny had been for her to go, she had fought so hard to return, only to become a hostage in it, a victim. Yet she had chased all the enemies, with flanked banners and dragons, she had remained while the Night had come over Winterfell. Now as it thrived once again, thanks to her, she had to leave. 

‘Away from King’s Landing, you won’t see that city ever again. Away from the carcass of Harrenhal and close to the North, close to our family… But in a new home, a home we’ll fill with children of the North and the South.’ Jon promised, smiling forcefully as Sansa finally nodded and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in Jon’s neck as he held her close. 

‘Please come back to me,’ Sansa whispered desperately.

‘No matter what, my Queen, my love, my heart.’ Jon promised, holding her even closer. 

Sansa wasn’t sure how long they had remained in the rooms, at some point, servants brought a large tub and water, they sunk in, together, cleaning each other’s bodies with sponges and oils, a ritual of care and love in itself, between their wedding ceremonies. They moved to the bed then, where they lay wide awake in their embrace, counting their synchronised breaths and their blessings. Dawn broke through the horizon and soon warm, pale light was reaching the room. Ghost’s scratching at the door signaled it was time as the castle woke earlier than usual. A Wedding of Light, a call in arms in truth, bells started tolling in celebration and alert. 

Servants brought Sansa’s wedding dress which was nothing else but her coronation gown, no time had been made for a new one but Sansa hadn’t minded, that dress meant so much to her and Jon had never seen her in it. When she had worn it on that day, he had already been in exile. The only thing added to it had been the black belt with a dragonwings clasp, made of dragonglass like Jon’s armor, signaling what lay behind it, growing peacefully inside Sansa’s belly.

The maids helped Sansa in the dress within the bedchambers while squires of the castle knights helped Jon in his armor in the solar. A small attempt for the groom not to see the bride in what scraps of tradition they could hold in the hurry their second wedding held, as much secrecy their first held the previous night. 

Despite the situation, Sansa smiled when she emerged from the bedchamber and Jon’s expression betrayed all his feelings for her and the sight she made in her dress, her hair just like on the day of her coronation had been left free on her back, rich and wavy upon the grey and black of her gown. It felt slightly tight around the middle but she didn’t mind and her belly was comfortable still. 

‘You’re… you’re so beautiful, love.’ Jon’s endearment would be one of those small things she would miss, along his smile, his hands upon her skin, his breath against her cheek. She fought back new tears. A few weeks, then it would be all over. 

Jon was in his dragonglass armor, a black cloak draped over his shoulders for the ritual, the head of a red dragon etched upon the fabric. People would crawl when they saw him but Sansa could only reach for him, his calloused, warm hand taking hold of hers as his dark grey eyes took her in with awe and love in his gaze. Servants brought their crowns and both bent for the circlets of wolves and dragons to be put on their heads. They exited the chambers together, people bowing to them as they passed through the corridors of Winterfell. 

Sansa had known of the ritual of a wedding under the Lord of Light. Without Kinvara; Jon would have to take the reins of the ceremony since he had been the one resurrected and through the pyre of that God. Sansa had never expected to be married in all three faiths, she thought as they reached the small burning pyre at the open space outside the castle walls. 

The people had gathered, the shieldmaidens watching over from their posts, Brienne, Arya and Gendry with Rickard in his arms were closest to the pyre as family to both. Where once the fallen of the battle for the Dawn had been laid to burn, a pyre had been set now for the Queen and King of Westeros to marry in a ceremony with symbolism based on mixed culture and breaking old traditions only for new to be made. The old world was dying and even though it was lashing out its final blows, Sansa and Jon were moving forward to the new one, brave and strong. 

Jon spoke the words, presenting himself, asking who escorts the bride, Arya stepped in replying, giving Sansa away as the only sibling left to the Queen in the North, Sansa reached the fire willingly. Soon they were standing next to each other, vowing to keep their union warm, to illuminate each other’s lives _“for the night is Dark and full of Terrors”_ they had been through that night too and survived. Sansa lowered her body for Jon to unclasp his black cloak and drape it over her black furs. Sansa rose before him once again, the Targaryen cloak covering her, defining every detail of the dress’ front, making the black belt stand out to the eyes of the people gathered. 

They made a few steps away from the pyre, facing everyone gathered before the walls. Everyone cheered for their monarchs while Jon helped Sansa with her cloak and dress as the couple used the distance from the fire to gain speed for their running towards it. They jumped over the flames, finishing the ritual as its protocol demanded, Sansa released the fabrics from her hands as Jon wrapped his arms around her, their first kiss before people, as husband and wife, King and Queen of Westeros. No shame, no hiding, no anger around their union mattered anymore, they were one now, for now and always. 

‘You must go,’ Sansa whispered bravely, Jon nodded, his eyes closed, she knew he was summoning the dragon while he held her in his arms, the people in the distance still cheering, emotions varied from happiness to anxiety, to fear and post trauma terror before the upcoming war. 

The wings were the first thing Sansa heard before Balerion’s screech could follow, coming from the wolfswood, she had expected the people would be afraid but as the armored dragon landed before herself and Jon, the thud of his weight upon the melting snow rippling through the ground, the crowd behind them cheered, they knew by then, the beast was under Jon’s control, it was their greatest defence. Sansa looked at Balerion’s eyes, the dragon’s massive pupils already looking back at her and Jon. 

‘Please, don’t die, neither of you,’ Sansa whispered, this time looking at the dragon instead of Jon who smiled and nodded, withdrawing Longclaw from its case. 

‘Spread your cloak with your hand, love.’ Jon instructed and Sansa frowned but did as she was told, grasping at the black fabric and opening it to her side like a bat’s wing. Jon penetrated the fabric with his sword, leaving a hole to the fabric as he withdrew the blade. Sansa’s frown remained at him in question. He shook his head lightly as he reached for her and brought her in his free arm, stealing a kiss from Sansa’s lips. 

‘I had a dream, I saw something in the flames, if He exists indeed, he should help now.’ Jon only replied, not wishing to burden her with his complicated belief system, it didn’t matter to her anyway, she was done with all that. Whatever made him go through the task he had ahead of him, she was fine with it. 

Balerion lowered his neck and growled, Jon who remained a little longer with his arm wrapped around Sansa’s waist, leaned in for another kiss. 

‘Take care of yourself,’ Sansa whispered, not ready to let go of him. 

‘Take care of yourself and the little girl in there,’ Jon whispered and Sansa looked at him in surprise. Maybe one of the things he saw in the flames, maybe a lucky guess. She only nodded in agreement, there was no time for more talk, he had to go and fight and she had to remain and rule; their rightful places, after everything they had been through, they were back in the start, or the very end. 

Balerion shrieked the moment Jon climbed atop him, both dragon and dragonrider looking at Sansa for a last time before the massive beast could turn around, mindful of its deadly tale as he made some steps before he could take off to the sky. The massive wings flapped and caused snowflakes to fly, extinguishing the small wedding pyre as Sansa remained among her family to look at the two reincarnations of Fire and Blood rising in the horizon and moving across it towards the South. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed the haze before it all, from the slow pace of the revious chapter to this fuzz because I feel like Sansa would be like that, set, or rather thrown in motion, needing to keep it cool and breaking only before Jon, him holding everything together because now we pass to his expertise while Sansa will have to idneed sit back and wait... the attack on Dorne is Martell's provocation to jon and attempt to set fire to the peace he has established through the tour, we'll see why very soon but for now we had another wedding, balerion's return and my babies separating after so long  
> jon running his sword through Sansa's cloak and believing they're having a daughter will be explained in the next chapter where we'll have a battle (which I hate writing lol but will do my best)   
> thank you all for reading, comments are love and motivation!


	31. Jon XV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one of the hardest chaps to write as I don't feel comfortable writing battles, I hope you will enjoy this

Chapter Thirty One - Jon XV

_“I fought… and I lost.”_

Of all the fights, before and beyond the Wall, fought over honor, duty and rights, Jon knew this would be the most important one. If they were to pass him, the kingdoms would fall, Sansa would fall. 

There was no chance in the Seven Hells of that. 

There had been days, melted into weeks, riding upon Balerion’s back, riding across the North, down past the Neck and even further, the massive remains of Harrenhal had seemed like a dot below as he rushed South. Jon rested in mountain caves, where Balerion wouldn’t be seen, where they would feast on beasts his dragon caught, they would sleep together; curled in his dragon’s body. His dreams were full of images, vibrant, painted red, a red sun, a blood red moon, Sansa holding a blooded squirming newborn, healthy and strong, he dreamed of her; bathed in blood, dying shortly after labour; just like his mother.

Once he crossed above King’s Landing he knew he was halfway to Dorne, although he had thought of stopping, burning Martell and continuing just to unburden himself from at least one problem. There was no time, however, no, he had to reach the fleet. 

He slept rough, but he didn’t care, he flew from the moment the sun broke over the horizon, while it burnt upon his back and hours after it had set again. He bathed in springs, ate scraps of food as the killings became more and more small and scarce as the ground beneath them turned more barren from the scorching sun. He hadn’t spoken to a person in weeks, if he flew down, subjects, spies, everyone would slow him down, even sabotage his quest, he had to continue. He rode until Balerion showed the signs of exhaustion every night, even not flying at full speed, the dragon had crossed the entire continent. Jon occasionally shifted the dragon’s armor from the black scales, helping Balerion to flex his body freely, there were already wounds because of the constant existence of the armor upon his scaled body but there was no alternative, Jon had seen enough dragon shot out of the sky. 

He would close the circle he had once opened, with his resurrection, with his arrival at Dragonstone, with his very birth, he wasn’t sure when it had been opened, all he knew was that he was glad he would close it on his own. No more armies, no more bloodshed, no more orphans or widows, if fate had it, it would be only Sansa and their babe. 

He had made peace with his choices a long time ago, while he was touching the ground of the dragon pit at King’s Landing and everyone but her were bowing down. He had made peace with his mistakes, his errors and failures. And Sansa had forgiven him too, just like he had accepted all her moves, her own betrayals and words ever since he met with her at Castle Black. 

She was his everything and he was only glad he was hers too. 

A reason for him to live, to finally exploit the chance he had been given again and again, as if indeed, something greater kept gifting him with another opportunity at life. 

Believing in destiny had never been his strong suit -mostly living in doubt- a life set by others. Now he would set the rules, he already had, he would survive that war too.

And then it would be only him and Sansa and their child and the worst would be over, the world would be theirs. 

_Sansa_

His purpose, his chance, his family. 

Damn the duty and the honor, it was his love that made him move mountains. 

His dreams were full of her, the woman he loved, of a flaming sword, of a fire that burnt and from which he had stepped out with Balerion by his side. Of a woman with fiery hair giving birth to his child. Fire and Ice, a union of promise. 

His child, beautiful and strong, like his or her, _her_ Momma.

Sansa must have been showing for good by now, round belly but still tall and willowy, draped in spring cloaks, sitting under the weirwood, waiting. 

He reached the Dornish mountains leading to Sunspear by the second full moon since he had left Winterfell, exhausted, hoping for the ravens to have been accepted. The entirety of Westeros knew their King was flying above the continent, Dorne knew it would be either him or the fleet. Manfrey was still far away and wouldn’t possibly have reached his kingdom faster than Jon himself. 

As he approached, he could see the black points in the sea, the fleet approaching, the irony of them travelling on black banners with the three-headed dragon upon their sails wasn’t lost to him. A civil war of Targaryens again, a civil war lost already since he had killed Daenerys...The old Targaryen sigil, signal of an old world, of old tyrants, of a wheel another mad member of his family had wished to break. He needed to finish this before it started, enough blood had been spilt by and for the Dragon Queen. 

The Old Palace glistened in the sunlight as Jon approached Sunspear on his dragon, both scanning the world beneath for scorpions or any other threats, Balerion screeched anxiously. Everything seemed safe, the remaining family members of the Martell family must have estimated when he would reach the Dornish capital for there were people signaling the royal family of the area with bells tolling. 

A dragon hadn’t flown across Dorne in centuries, last time one did, Rhaenys Targaryen had been lost forever, igniting another era of fire and blood. Jon could see the people from outside the yellow vastness of the city. The people in King’s Landing had run in fear, these ones were not bending so easily, dying by fire was something they had been used to even if it wasn’t from a dragon. 

There was nowhere Balerion could land but the Old Palace’s flat terrace, Jon wouldn’t risk the dragon to be kept away, nor too close. Once he dismounted, the dragon took off, heading towards the mountains instead of the sea, where the fleet certainly carried scorpions. 

The salty breeze was strong, hitting Jon’s nostrils, his body hot, sweat dampening his clothes underneath the armor. He gave little notice to it as the Prince before him reached him, walking surely towards the King of the Seven Kingdoms, looking at him for a moment before inclining his head as Jon approached him in his dark armor. 

‘My King, my name is Quentyn Martell, Dorne is yours.’ the man with the dark complexion offered quickly, efficiently showing his intentions. Of course he would be obedient, a fleet was ready to level the city, Jon not sending armies hadn’t been only a move of mercy, it was also a move of strategy. 

‘Is it, my Prince?’ Jon asked for confirmation and the man looked at him in the eyes. ‘For your cousin? Brother?’ he couldn’t remember the Martell family ties Sansa had instructed him upon for the life of him. 

‘Uncle, my King,’ the man replied in a humbled voice, having the courtesy to look down. 

‘He’s conspiring against me while I made him my Hand. What should I do to House Martell and its betrayal?’ Jon wondered, exhausted, in the need of a bath, famished and worn out, he must have looked like some savage beastrider as he waited for his confirmations at the door of the palace. 

‘Manfrey Martell is no family of mine if he seeks Dorne to drown in blood.’ the young well groomed man spoke, his accent heavy, his eyes seemingly honest. ‘Ravens have arrived, suggesting he conspired with the Essosi enemies to smash Dorne as a provocation to you, so Dorne would never find peace with the Crown.’ the man added and inclined his head again. 

‘House Martell was peaceful under your cousin’s rule, My King.’ Quentyn reminded Jon of their acceptance of Bran. ‘Manfrey might have his own ambitions but House Martell is not disloyal nor does it judge you for your ancestors’ choices and the Lannisters’ orders to kill my aunt Ellia…’ the young man added, extending his hand. ‘Doran, Ellaria, Oberyn… they’re all dead, just like Ellia. Exterminate the viper at your feet, keep me as an ally in Dorne and I swear by the Old Gods and the New, House Martell will never pose a threat, ever again.’ the man cut straight to the chase. He was not looking back, only at his best interest, at the house’s survival. He seemed like a smart man, either by savages or a barbarian half Northern King… he was afraid Sunspear would burn, or he would himself, along Manfrey once this was over and their House would go to waste. Jon appreciated the honesty, the need in surviving, the fact Dorne wouldn’t turn against him once he cut down Manfrey if Quentin was there, but if no Martell blood existed, Jon wasn’t sure Dorne would ever forgive him after the long fighting between Houses Martell and Targaryen. Jon finally clasped hands with the man. 

‘I will protect the city, as it is my duty.’ Jon promised. 

‘And I will always be loyal to House Targaryen, as is my duty. I’m done with Manfrey’s bloodthirsty ideas on revenge and the past. Sunspear, House Martell, Dorne belongs in the future Your Grace and Queen Sansa are building.’ the man confirmed, still holding Jon’s hand by the wrist. Jon nodded, he was only glad there were still thinking people across the continent, Quentyn would have to prove his loyalty and his city becoming the battlefield for the rest of Westeros would test that loyalty, along him receiving his uncle’s burnt bones in the coming weeks. 

‘I wish for my city to remain intact before this new threat,’ the man said. ‘On your behalf, to show my loyalty to you, I asked them for something I hoped they wouldn’t deny.’ Quentyn added as the two men started moving inside the palace. The temperature inside was different, so was the humidity, Jon felt like breathing easier as Quentyn probably led him to his chambers to rest before the battle. ‘I begged them to consider settling this the Old Way… You against them, it’s you they want after all as far as I know from my spies in the Free Cities and what my uncle has been sending me, thinking he’s safe sharing information with his last remaining relative of our House.’ the man added, giving Jon all the information he needed, pausing before a door with elaborate Southern designs upon it. ‘Inside this room, you will find all my letters to Manfrey and his to me, enough evidence for what lays ahead. You will also find the Essosi’s answer to my proposal. Daario Naharis accepted to settle things thus, with a duel, you against him, Grey Worm declined… He wishes to reach Westeros and avenge his Queen, he spoke of betrayl in his letter, of Queen Sansa being insincere from the beginning.... He believes it's the Westerosi's betrayal of not keeping you beyond the Wall..of making you our King once you returned.’ the Prince added and Jon sighed, nodding his head. He didn’t care, he would fight with one man, with the entire fleet, he would go against the entire world if he had to. He was ready. 

He couldn’t sleep that night, the adrenaline coursing through his veins wouldn’t yield before his exhaustion. The wam meal and the hot bath did little for his mind to relax, only hid body gave in, causing Jon to collapse in the bath, staring at the elaborate designs of the ceiling, light blue and copper, white, grey, red, Sansa’s colors, her clothes, sigils, the blood they shared and the life they created. She had conquered his mind, body, his very soul and he was unable to think of anything else but Sansa. 

He knew in his heart, even if he fell, taking his enemies to the abyss, Sansa would have the kingdoms prosper, like she did with the North, like she always wanted to do. Unlike Daenerys who would have brought the world to its knees if he hadn’t stopped her, Sansa was able to hold it upon her shoulders and save it. Like the rest of the choices he had made, he was content with which Queen he killed and for which Queen he would die for. 

In a twisted way, he understood Daario Naharis, Jon had known the man and Daenerys had been lovers, he had learnt of her life in Essos in the brief months they remained on Dragonstone and their trip to the North. She always opened up easily, spoke of the things she loved and hated, for the things she enjoyed doing, killing had been one of them, she had spoken of the man too. 

Were he in his shoes, Jon knew he would have gone mad himself in his bloodlust to avenge Sansa, he had done so with Ramsay, with Littlefinger, then with that assassin at the Twins. He had tasted madness times and times again, he knew the violence it could ignite. 

Jon spent the night in the rooms he had been given, no appetite after days and weeks of flying South, the food at the table of the vast room remained untouched. He had read through every treasonous word the Martells had exchanged, along the enemies’ declarations. Jon’s room oversaw the ocean, where the ships reached ever closer, by dawn, they would be reaching Westeros. Grey Worm would give Naharis the time to have the duel, it had probably been one of the conditions in their deal, their thirst for revenge had different shapes. Jon was certain, knowing the Unsullied Commander, no matter the outcome, the man would burn Dorne anyway, and then he would only push on. 

The world needed to move on, the Dothraki had, based on their culture, but the Unsullied and the Second Sons had followed two men sworn to a Queen who became exactly what she had thought she wasn’t. Jon remained seated before the large balcony, the food cold before him, his eyes drifted close. 

Images of King’s Landing burning around him rushed back in his mind, dragon fire, wild fire erupting in a blaze of orange and green, followed by charcoal black, made of innocent people, children, little children burnt, a city surrendered, a city doomed. 

Jon wouldn’t make the same mistake, not with King’s Landing, not with Dorne, or Winterfell, he had paid for his mistakes, his crimes, had been punished for them, no one else would suffer in the name of the Targaryen dynasty and like a few years ago, he would put an end to it all himself. 

Dawn broke in one of the most beautiful sunrises Jon had ever witnessed in his life. The sky pale -like Sansa’s skin- before the bright sun could climb over the horizon the color of her hair- bathing the Summer Sea in pale light -painting it the color of her eyes- Sansa was the furthest from him she’d ever been, back home, a home they would both abandon soon. But they would do it together, she wouldn’t be left alone. 

He wore his armor on his own, feeling the piece made in Winterfell the only familiar object along Longclaw. He had been given lighter clothes for the hot South, black in respect of his house, or his past at the Wall, it mattered little, he wore them, sheathed his sword in its case and followed Quentin when he arrived at the chambers to escort him as protocol demanded. 

Jon felt everything slowing down, his legs leading him outside the palace on their own, voices, sounds around him muffled as he realised he was looking without seeing. His consciousness reaching out, his body hot, wings beneath his arms, his scales flexing, clawed legs kicking off the earth, flying over Sunspear so high he wouldn’t be spotted in the blinding side of the sun. At the same time, he felt the stone floor, with his jaw, resting upon the warmed floor, the springs of Winterfell singing in the distance, his snout smelling her, his head rising, sniffing deeper, from his position at the side of the bed, he saw her hand coming to rest upon his head, he licked at the warm wrist, wishing he could kiss it with his lips. He stood on four legs, reaching for her protruding belly, he nuzzled his nose there, tickling her but not caring in his need to reach closer, he could smell Sansa’s intoxicating familiarity, he could hear the two heartbeats, he whined at the realisation. Sansa was obliviously half-asleep on her side, her hand still upon his massive head, scratching behind his ears, her hair reaching down, covering her fuller breasts, reaching her belly beneath the fabric of her thin shift, her other hand resting upon it, protecting their babe. He whined again, desperate for her eyes to open and look at him, to see those eyes again once more. 

The hard sunlight pulled Jon off the odd moment, the daydream ending before it could fully begin. Jon’s eyes screwed shut, his hand reaching for them, shielding himself. The place of the duel was an opening the palace gardens led to. Jon hadn’t been sure of what to expect of the opponent before him but he wasn’t surprised at the end. A simple man, just like himself, one of the best fighters in Essos, that would be a fair fight. 

Naharis bounced his weapon from hand to hand impatiently, an arakh that reminded Jon of the Dothraki, he remained calmed, reaching the massive backyard of the palace, there were not many people to watch, the city was on alert and no matter who won, the fleet was still upon everyone. 

Daario’s nostrils flared the moment the two men faced each other with less than ten feet between them, Jon remained stoic, watching the man’s posture, his tormented eyes. 

‘You killed her!’ the man screamed before him, gaspring his akhar on his good hand, the right one, Jon noted. ‘I loved her like you never would or ever did!’ he went on, probably having held those words for years, he had been betrayed, from Daenerys first, then from fate as he assumed, Jon was certain. ‘You even stole her only remaining child! She left Meereen with three dragons and because of you, she lost everything!’ the man screamed the words that burnt inside him, extinguished upon Jon’s ears, doing nothing to affect him anymore. ‘I loved her!’ he screamed again, unable to hold back his rage. 

‘Yet, she didn’t love you back,’ Jon chose provocation, fury never helped in strategy. ‘Otherwise you would have been with her at Dragonstone, where I first met her, where I realised I had to exploit her and the dragons to save the world.’ he added and blocked the furious first blow of the arakh, following the man’s scream of agony. They parted again, Jon received a taste of the man’s strength. ‘She didn’t love you and even if she thought so; she didn’t love me either, Daario Naharis.’ Jon decided to confuse the man with the truth. He seemed a clever man, but not intelligent, a man of many passions and little patience, a man Jon had let die during a cold night, stabbed by his own brothers at the Wall... 

‘She only loved the Iron Throne,’ Jon added and the man advanced again, Jon blocked him and this time he counterattacked, missing him by an inch as they continued circling each other. 

‘You drove her mad with your conspiracies. You and your whore Queen of a sister, cousin, whatever that bitch is to you!’ the man tried to enrage Jon but nothing could pass through to him during a duel. Jon was certain Grey Worm had told the man of Sansa but Jon was done making mistakes, betraying his weaknesses like his enemies did so passionately. ‘I will kill her, your love, your child!’ the man screamed the next provocation, mad with need for a response from Jon.

‘Daenerys was already mad when she crucified people, she was mad when she buried people alive, even when she crowned her brother with molten gold, she was mad like her father, my grandfather.’ Jon chose his sharp words carefully, showing the man before him he knew the truth, throwing it at his feet as it was, reminding him of the family ties and the same madness to inspire fury and fear. ‘She was mad when she took me to her bed and when she begged, warned and then threatened me with my family’s safety…’ he added, he saw the man’s fragile composure snapping, surging forward with his arakh raised, teeth bared and eyes wild. 

The man was half mad himself, or maybe he didn’t care, the motive mattered little to Jon who could reach for him from greater distance because of longclaw, Naharis had to reach closer because of the arakh but he was fast. The sounds of metal clashing with metal were matched only by the fighters’ groans of effort and the bells tolling around the city, the fleet was approaching. They clashed and advanced and fought in a dance of death until their weapons locked with each other, their faces and bodies almost collided. 

Jon saw the man reaching for a hidden weapon at the hip, he jolted back to avoid the dagger aimed at his ribs -Arya had been quicker at the crypts- but Naharis made it to stab Jon’s thigh instead, opening his body to the King of Westeros for a moment, a much needed moment for Jon to swing his sword from the close distance -instead of bending from the seething pain- he thrust longclaw through Naharis’ chest, all the way out to his back. The two men finally came face to face as the Essosi man’s eyes had widened in shock and pain. Jon could also see the sorrow and betrayal. He had been left behind, alone, to fight with who knows what Daenerys had left behind her in Essos, because he had loved her, only to learn she was murdered and taken away, her murderer had been exiled instead of killed, then returned and accepted. Yes, life wasn’t fair. 

‘No one calls my wife a whore and a bitch and stays unpunished.’ Jon finally informed the dying man before he could jerk back his sword, leaving the man to fall with blood spurting from his mouth. Jon reached for the dagger still sheathed in his flesh, pulling it out with a grunt and throwing it on the dead body before him. 

He mostly felt rather than saw Balerion reaching the backyard from the east. He climbed upon his dragon, the frenzy of the moments too strong to make him pay attention to the bleeding of his leg. They were up in the sky within moments, Jon adjusted his body upon the back scales and the opening the armor had for him to hold onto his dragon. Balerion reached high above, both knowing they had few chances to advance against the fleet and the scorpions the ships were certainly infested with. 

Balerion had destroyed fleets before, Rheagal had done the same at the price of his life but Jon wouldn’t allow the same to happen to the last dragon of the known world, his dragon by then. 

They flew high above the fleet until Balerion plunged, his wings folding for him to reach down as fast as possible. Jon held onto him for dear life as he counted the ships of the front line. The scorpions didn’t glimmer in the light due to movement, they were still being unnoticed. Balerion’s fire breath caught the first ships and almost blew them into pieces, their flaming masts falling on other ships around them. 

Balerion continued his devastating attack as the first scorpions were fired, the dragon avoided all the bolts, screeching infuriated as he breathed more fire upon the ships before he could reach higher again towards the sun. Jon struggled to keep his eyes open before the strong light, knowing reaching the sun gave them the advantage of the scorpions missing aim. 

The second dive was as successful as the first, the dragon destroying everything as it burnt everything. The fleet of dozens of ships lay ablaze in the Summer Sea, the scorching sun and clean day did nothing for the enemies to stop the dragon as scorpion bolts reached at a certain height and then were lost in the horizon. Jon maneuvered Balerion as they burnt the ships of the Unsullied and the Second Sons, some collided with each other in their frenzy to pivot away but there was no use, carcasses made of wood and flesh would be washed ashore for the coming days and weeks. Jon never saw on which ship Grey Worm was, the man who had been so loyal to Daenerys, the man who had killed surrendered war prisoners, who had thrown a spike at the back of a man who had retreated, igniting the atrocities of the armies that had only been matched by the fire rained down upon the capital of Westeros. 

Jon wouldn’t abandon the Summer Sea until he made sure no ship remained to attack Dorne or the rest of the continent. Naharis’ words finally hitting home, his love, Sansa, the child, the world and everything in it were in danger. Jon wouldn’t leave any other threat hanging, he was done deflecting and pacifying his enemies, trying to find logic in their ruthlessness. 

When he made sure everything had collapsed in a mess of burnt wood and screaming Essosi men, Jon pivoted Balerion towards Sunspear, a single raven would be sent, with his name and sigil on, for her to know, his Queen and mother of child to reach the Neck. Despite his bloodlust, his need to reach King’s Landing and kill the initiator of all this chaos, Manfrey Martell would have to wait a little longer, Sansa had to know the war was over. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the journey south took weeks because damn the show's last seasons, at the start we paid some damn attention to distances, everyone was moving from the wall to rober baratheon's ass in the blink of an eye pffff  
> I calculated the dragon flying in a normal 50m/ph speed and the miles from dorne to winterfell and damn it it would take almost 50 days, thank you very much  
> Jon thinking of sansa all the time was my fave part, him warging on both balerion and ghost shows how much of a dragonwolf he is and I loved making that paragraph, we got a glimpse of Sansa in that chap of separation, I hope you enjoyed it  
> the duel with Naharis was something I liked making, I just hope it wasn't too short or too dragging, Jon is a character changed but he was always calculating of his opponents and had the wits to bring someone to blinding rage to use that as an advantage I think, so I hope the fighting was on character  
> yes he burnt it all because how is he supposed to deal with two savage warrior armies of mercenaries who come to burn and destroy just like their Queen used to do, I see big differences between Essos and Westeros and Jon wouldn't take any chances, hence the dragon in his command... 
> 
> Next chap, Sansa's final pov while in Winterfell ;'( (my heaaart)  
> thank you very much for reading, comments are love!!!!!


	32. Sansa XVI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm officially on quarantine again, like the rest of my country and to be honest I'm super glad about it *happy dance* no mask for 10 hours per day, no close encounter with people (I'm a hairstylist) no madness over it all every day! Home sweet home with my cats, the hubby and my fanfics!!!I have plenty of time now so I hope to continue here until the very end.  
> We have few chapters until the end of the story, afterwards, a new one will follow which will be a retake on seasons 7&8 because I believe that after a year and a half I am mentally prepared to try and fix everything, I think I am also ready to rewatch seasons 6,7 and 8 to achieve what I want. the new story will start only after I am done here and I am not rushing myself as this story is my fave jonsa story and want every chap of it to be as I have imagined it  
> Enjoy...

_Chapter Thirty Two - Sansa XVI_

__

_‘I am Sansa Stark of Winterfell, this is my home and you cannot frighten me.’_

The audiences with smallfolk had been done for the day, the sun was setting slowly, Spring allowed more light each day, currently bathing the Queen’s chambers in golden light. The last of the Lords and Ladies had left days ago for their Keeps. Ravens with good news were sent everywhere as Sansa remained silent before the tens of scrolls before her desk, sat on her chair, one hand at the top of her belly, the other holding open the last scroll with her skillful fingers. Jon’s handwriting upon it, the sigil of the dragon at the bottom, the war was over, he had killed their foreign enemies. He had kept Dorne via another Martell Prince, he was on his way to King’s Landing. The last of the words from the scroll burnt in her heart, the ink seeping into her soul.

_All hardship will soon be over, my love. Begin for the Twins, I will find you there._

_Always yours_

_Forever yours_

_Jon_

There were scrolls from all around Westeros, notifying her of changes, requests and announcements, everyone had accepted her as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and since the King was absent, the ravens were reaching only her for the time being. Sansa’s eyes drifted to a specific scroll from the pile upon the desk, words from King’s Landing, news soon Jon would hear as he would arrive at the current capital any day now.

Davos was dead, Martell wasn’t recognising the marriage, the child nor her as Queen of Westeros, a coup was taking place in the wretched city and soon, it would too fall as Jon would reach King’s Landing on Balerion.

Sansa closed her eyes for a moment, she knew, he wouldn’t burn the city, only the traitor, the Red Keep would be the final battlefield but Jon wouldn’t touch the children and the people of the city, not after what they got through because of Daenerys Targaryen no more than six years ago.

It had been weeks since he left and she remained behind -once again- to get everything ready, weeks of preparations, weeks of Sansa growing heavy with their babe. She had been mobilising everyone for her descend and Jon’s arrival at the Twins. Two capitals were to be moved into one, Eight Kingdoms to be ruled from the perfect in the heart of the continent. The Knights of the Vale were there already -a courtesy from Robin Arryn, after her letter to Lord Royce not only as cousin to the Lord Paramount of the East, but also as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms- they had made sure, alongside troops from her uncle Edmure that the Twins would be a safe fortress for the pregnant Queen. No one was taking any chances after the attempt at her life, especially since the King wasn’t there yet to protect her.

Winterfell was also ready, Sansa had made sure to make more and more time and space for Gendry and Arya with Rickard, so they could be ready, so they could take over her place in the boy’s life, no matter how much pain her separation from her nephew caused her. Arya and Gendry had been proven good parents in the past weeks, the boy spent less and less time with Sansa and she made sure she saw him once per day but always made sure to pivot his need for his parents with everything he wanted, wished or was obliged to do.

‘Commander Hornwood, Lady Brienne’ Sansa finally spoke and the man remaining ever loyal in the shadows emerged, inclining his head, ready for her commands, as Brienne did from the other corner. ‘Your wife, Ensa, is the leader of my shieldmaidens, your son Robb plays with Prince Rickard all the time.’ Sansa stated, knowing her people’s names and family ties, the name of her lost brother, the Young Wolf, slipping easily from her lips as so many people loyal to the Queen in the North had named their children in honour of the Stark family. Little Robb was a few months younger than Rickard, little Sansas and Aryas too played around with bows and dolls and swords every morning in the courtyard. Sansa smothered the ache in her heart of leaving everyone behind as the man nodded expressionless before her. Sansa had thought of the members of her Queensguard, compelled by duty to follow their Queen, leaving behind wives and children in the North. She wouldn’t separate families, she knew the feeling of being torn apart from the ones you love.

‘Rickard will need a loyal Kingsguard, made of Northmen, he will need good councilors too for the future…’ Sansa stated and the man remained silent although a frown appeared between his brows. ‘I wish you to stay here in Winterfell, along the members of my guard who have wives and children, serve my nephew with the same devotion you have served me. The new Kingsguard is to be led by you, Lord Commander, the shieldmaidens who wish to leave Winterfell for a new life away from the cold shall follow the rest of my Queensguard to the Twins.’ Sansa added, the man finally spoke.

‘But my Queen… although I see your motives and respect deeply your intentions… My honour demands to follow you wherever you choose to go, to protect you and redeem myself for my failure at the Twins…’ Sansa shook her head, smiling at the man before her, his hands flexed nervously at his sides, his eyes desperate. She knew she would need years to find such loyalty in the South.

‘You have nothing to redeem yourself for, you have served me well from the day you became my Commander and you took that position because I trust you with my life, I wouldn’t have you as Commander of Rickard’s Guard if there was even a shadow of doubt about you in my mind.’ Sansa replied to his concerns with the same smile upon her face, sad and detached to protect herself from harm.

‘But who will lead your own Queensguard down South?’ Edgar asked weakly, touched by the Queen’s trust. Her eyes drifted to Brienne who almost expected the next words, knowing Sansa so well.

‘I once asked Lady Brienne to let go of her service to me and extend it to protect my baby brother, King Bran. It had been one of the hardest decisions of my life, her acceptance was one the hardest choices in her life too, I am sure.’ Sansa spoke the words to which Brienne nodded dutifully, the two women understanding each other deeply. ‘I will be safe with her as the Commander of my Queensguard at the Twins.’ Sansa added and Brienne smiled and nodded her head, glad she wasn’t staying behind at Winterfell. ‘As the general Commander of the troops of Westeros once the armies have been formed and sworn fealty to me and King Aegon.’ Sansa added and Brienne’s eyes widened before she could compose herself at the news of her promotion that was to be once the Keep at the Twins was established. ‘Besides, I will need all the help in the world once my child is born and runs around the strange castle there…’ Sansa added with a smile and Brienne inclined her head before she could look proudly at Sansa, the pride in her eyes shining.

‘There’s no greater honour in my life than running behind the little one.’ Brienne replied informally and Sansa smiled and nodded at both, her hand caressing her belly.

‘Good, we’re settled then, Lord Commander, make sure of who is following me South under the Lady Commander here and who is staying behind under your command.’ Sansa replied, showing the man was free to leave, he bowed once again and left the room.

‘Is everything ready?’ Sansa asked, only Brienne knew of all the things Sansa had set in motion. ‘So my sister is on her way to my chambers.’ The blond woman nodded before she could look at Sansa with knowing eyes. ‘You know I consider your council precious.’ Sansa urged her out of her hesitation.

‘Are you sure of what you’re doing?’ Brienne finally gave voice to the doubtful thoughts in Sansa’s mind. Sansa stood carefully, stretching with a small gasp, her back was growing more and more rigid as her belly grew heavy. She exhaled slowly as Ghost who had been sleeping half laying at her feet stood to his rare legs and nuzzled her belly, always around her since Jon’s departure, he would follow her South too. Jon’s letter still in her hand, she pressed it with her palm on her clothed belly before she could look at Brienne.

‘No,’ Sansa replied honestly. ‘After all I have been through to get Winterfell, to the the North, now I’m moving out of it, in a Keep where Starks had bled to death… my child will be born there…Kinvara is on the loose... No I am not sure of what I am doing right now, of the outcome.’ Sansa admitted, scratching Ghost’s behind Ghost’s good ear, earning a long swipe of his tongue at her wrist in thanks. ‘But I am sure of what I must do in the future, both Jon and I...’ Sansa replied, moving around the desk and towards the window, the sunset catching her fiery braid on her side and the golden threads of the embodied weirwood leaves upon her green dress. ‘We must put the Seven Kingdoms to their own feet, Seven Kingdoms savaged by wars and destruction. We must make Dorne trustful, we must limit the Iron Islands without restricting them. We must find a good leader for the Stormlands -and I won’t lie, I considered you… but I know you would hate me for sending you down there alone to be a lady to a Keep of a land you only lived miserable in.’ Sansa added, glancing at Brienne who only nodded, silently thanking her for sparing her the fate. ‘We must make sure the Reach and the Riverlands prosper, that the Westerlands start producing gold for everyone again. Jon and I must find a good match for my unstable cousin Robin and the Crownlands need a true leader to keep them neutral but loyal. We must save King’s Landing from collapse and poverty since the capital and all the commerce will move to the Twins… We also need to build and expand the Twins…’ Sansa counted some of the countless duties. ‘We must become good parents… we must learn to communicate and work on our impulses… I…’ Sansa drifted off as both her hands touched her belly, feeling the baby kicking against her unease.

‘You’re an amazing Queen for a kingdom unyielding and hard to rule as the North. You will be a great Queen for the Seven Kingdoms and you will be an amazing mother too, Sansa.’ Brienne reassured her friend and liege as she moved next to her, the two tall women smiling at each other. ‘I was referring to Arya and Gendry, to be honest.’ Brienne finally replied and Sansa chuckled, she had poured out all her personal worries and her plans for the rest of Westeros, forgetting the plans she had for Winterfell. There were three knocks in the brief silence following her reaction. Sansa’s heart kicked in her chest, Jon always knocked thrice, he and Arya were so much alike. ‘Of them, I am certain.’ Sansa replied before she could call for her sister to enter.

Sansa nodded at Brienne as Arya opened the door of the Queen’s chambers and the Lady Commander left before it closed again, nodding to Arya who did the same in respect, her eyes however were glued on Sansa who returned to her desk, gesturing to her sister to sit.

‘Your Highness,’ Arya greeted with a grin on her face, Sansa clicked her tongue, the smile this time reaching her eyes as she regarded her sister who waited. ‘You asked to see me,’ Arya added to fill the silence Sansa made sure to stretch, searching for the right words before her own blood.

‘You once told me our stories are not over yet.’ Sansa began, her eyes never leaving her sister’s. Arya nodded, unease was hard to creep into Arya Stark but at that moment it did as she frowned and nodded, her stare searching her sister’s expressionless face.

‘No, no they’re not.’ Arya echoed Sansa’s words from the crypts in her turn, expectant, still.

‘You cannot come with me at the Twins,’ Sansa pointed out and Arya chuckled in angry disbelief.

‘You’re dreaming if you think I will be away from you while you move to the place Mother and Robb were slaughtered.’ Arya protested hotly. ‘The place you were almost killed because of my actions.’ she added breathlessly, unease was quickly overcame by guilt and pain for the retaliation her actions had. Sansa shook her head, unsurprised at the outburst and background of it.

‘A Stark must always be in Winterfell, Arya,’ Sansa explained patiently, as if she was talking to her nephew. Arya was ready to speak about the son they shared. ‘An _adult_ Stark, Arya, someone who cares, someone brave, gentle and strong to defend what we’ve built here. Someone dear to Rickard.’ Sansa added and Arya sighed.

‘What you’ve built,’ Arya corrected quietly, recognising the effort, wishing to bypass the rest, Sansa knew it was hard for her to choose between her sister and son and even though Sansa was in greater need of protection at the Twins than the boy in the safety of Winterfell, Sansa needed Arya to see the only way for them to achieve balance.

‘Winterfell belongs to all of us bearing the Stark name.’ Sansa soothed her sister who shook her head.

‘He’s safe here, with Gendry,’ Arya pointed out desperately, unknowingly giving Sansa the opportunity she sought in their conversation.

‘Gendry who wishes to abdicate once Jon is back… He will be a Waters again, guarding a boy who isn’t a Snow himself because I opposed everyone a few years ago, a change too drastic for the narrow minds, a change that can collapse if a Stark isn’t here…’ Sansa added and Arya’s eyes searched her sister’s face in a mixture of worry and realisation, sensing the path Sansa was setting her upon.

‘Sansa…’ Arya’s voice grew small, weak, beneath all the anger and aloofness, Sansa was used to seeing the vulnerability behind the teeth and claws, either if they were of a wolf’s or a dragon’s.

‘You once reached for Gendry, heavily pregnant and sick.’ Sansa pointed out, stroking absentmindedly her own belly, encountered by Arya’s silence. ‘What would you have done? What would you have done if he hadn’t been days away from marrying? What had been your plan back then?’ Sansa asked gently, knowing from all the weeks she had watched her sister around the father of her child that there were feelings that never died.

‘I…’ Arya tried, eyes lowering finally to her lap, unable to look at her sister. ‘I would have given Rickard his father… I would have spared him the fate Gendry had, I would give Rickard the family Jon never had…’ Arya replied without confessing to her own self the actual plan to herself, Sansa however received the message.

‘What stops you now from doing the same for your boy and yourself?’

‘Rickard’s legitimised, Sansa,’ Arya pointed out weakly, almost foolishly.

‘And so is Gendry, yet he’s abdicating for you and your son…’ Sansa countered, knowing she was striking raw spots deep in her sister’s heart.

‘What do you want from me, Sansa?’ Arya attempted to go to the only defense she knew best, her advance, her voice even if raised was breaking. ‘To do my duty as a lady, like Mother always wished? I’m not one, to do what honour demands? My honour has been-’

‘Do you love him?’ Sansa interrupted Arya before she could raise the storm and get lost in it. The heavy silence that followed was the answer Sansa needed.

‘I asked you a question, the same question I had asked the day you showed up here, in this very room, neck rotting and a belly full with Gendry’s child.’ Sansa reminded her sister of the past, when her own reign was still fresh and fragile. ‘Back then, you didn’t answer, only cried in my arms, and I acted upon your silence... Now I demand an answer before I leave you two with the child I raised as my own while you were both inevitably away…’ Sansa’s words were demanding yet soft, unbearably so as Arya’s eyes filled with tears. ‘I think I deserve that much after what I have done for you son, I deserve some reassurance. Do you love him?’ Sansa repeated the question calmly, the pressure causing Arya to stand from her chair and pace the chambers that once belonged to their parents, their grandparents before them and all their ancestors. Ghost watched the youngest Stark woman with curious eyes as he rested his head upon Sansa’s limited space on her lap.

‘I do,’ the stark response broke the heavy silence, causing Sansa to stand up as well even though with difficulty due to the direwolf and her belly, she set Jon’s letter upon the desk and moved close to Arya. The sun had fallen almost completely over the horizon outside the windows, the lit candles upon the desk the only light within the room.

‘Then act like it, _act upon_ that love, Arya… Marry him, make him the Stark who can stay with Rickard here, guarding him with his life and you come with me at the Twins…’ Sansa offered, reaching her sister who turned and looked at her, Sansa’s belly separating them. Sansa hadn’t seen tears in Arya’s face for a long time.

‘Until Jon is back, until I give birth, until you feel ready to confront your fears and be with the man you love… However long that might be; is up to you.’ Sansa offered the only way they could achieve balance. ‘You had a list of people you wanted to murder… I had told Theon all the awful things I had hoped I would do to him if I could… You and I… we both thought of terrible things, carried out some of them… But, Arya… even if you feel unworthy of happiness, even if it scares you… believe me, you deserve it, we all do.’ Sansa reassured her sister, they were the only Starks left, their legacy would have to continue until Rickard had his own starklings, and they had to start living instead of existing upon that world.

‘You’re Arya Stark of Wintefell, mother of King Rickard, this is your home and no one can frighten you…’ Sansa’s own eyes had filled with tears as Arya reached for her, wrapping her arms around the Queen who did the same, they had been through the Seven Hells and back. Sansa wouldn’t have been able to leave her sister like that before leaving their home, they both deserved better.

‘You’re right,’ Arya’s muffled response had Sansa actually laugh out loud through her own tears.

‘I can’t believe my own ears,’ she jested, earning a gentle slap on her back by Arya, along an affectionate nuzzle from her face at her collarbone.

‘Shut up…’ Arya’s command had Sansa smile, knowing it was time.

‘I will; if you follow me.’ Sansa replied, breaking the hug and looking down at her sister, taking her hand and urging her out of the chambers.

For the last time -maybe the first too- they walked hand in hand through the familiar corridors of their castle. Corridors enemies of all natures, names and houses had walked upon, only for the Starks to remain, claiming it for what it always had been, their home. They moved outside and although Arya noticed no guard was following the Queen, she followed her sister obediently. One dressed in her green dress, the other in her leather jerkin and breeches, Needle around her waist. There wouldn’t have been any other way as Sansa escorted Arya towards the Godswood, holding at Arya’s hand a little tighter the moment they faced the illuminated by lanterns path to the weirwood, a few figures waiting around the sacred tree.

Brienne was there, a cloak in her hands, Commander Hornwood and his wife Ensa, Maester Wolkan and at the end of the path, Gendry was standing in casual clothes and Rickard in his arms who smiled at his approaching mother and aunt. Arya’s panicked eyes were met by Sansa’s reassuring gaze as she nodded to her little sister and led her up the path, Arya moved willingly, leaving behind all the fear and remorse as she followed Sansa before the few people.

‘Who comes before the old Gods tonight?’ Brienne asked, helping with the wedding as Sansa had asked her to. If Arya hadn’t opened up, if that old question had been answered differently -or not answered at all- Sansa would have never brought Arya down here and the Starks’ absence would show everyone the answer as well. Sansa’s heart felt like bursting in happiness as she faced Brienne and the Gods she had been married before, just a few moons back. Oh it would have been so sweet for Jon to be there, but time was of the essence.

‘Arya of House Stark, comes to be wed, a woman fully grown and blossomed, trueborn and noble.’ Sansa replied as she turned towards Gendry and smiled at her nephew who watched in interest from his father’s arms. ‘She comes to beg the blessings of the Gods.’ Sansa added, Arya’s eyes had turned to Gendry, looking at him in a way that verified Sansa’s move, Arya loved Gendry, as much as he loved her back. ‘Who comes to claim her?’ Sansa requested and Gendry adjusted his son to his hip, the smile he gave Arya as he answered Sansa’s question was vibrant.

‘Gendry Waters, a bastard once, a Lord turned a bastard once again.’ Gendry replied steadily, bravely, proudly. ‘Who gives her?’ he asked as he finally glanced at Sansa before he could look back at Arya.

‘Sansa of Houses Stark and Targaryen, Queen in the North and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.’ Sansa replied, for the first time announcing her new titles, the weight of the whole world upon her shoulders felt lighter as one by one, she alleviated its pains.

‘Princess Arya, will you take this man?’ Brienne asked gently and everyone’s eyes turned towards the bride whose own gaze was locked with Gendry’s. Sansa lowered her eyes to her belly, knowing the seconds the two needed to reassure each other, to draw strength and trust for the steps ahead.

‘I take this man.’ Arya’s words had Sansa’s heart kick harder in her chest as the smile on her face grew wide, she raised her head, reaching for Rickard to come to her arms so Gendry could take the cloak from Brienne and approach Arya. ‘To be my husband, until the end of my days.’ her sister’s voice was thick with emotion as Rickard squealed in joy.

‘And I take this woman to be my wife and love, until my last breath.’ the two were no poets, Sansa knew but she beamed at both as Gendry cloaked Arya, a tear escaping his eyes as he smiled sweetly at her who accepted the cloak and took a deep breath before she could pull him to her lips for a long kiss that had Rickard laugh and clap as the rest beamed.

Sansa couldn’t imagine a better way to spend her last night at Winterfell. In the morrow, she would be saying goodbye to the sweet boy in her arms, she would have everyone at Winterfell crying and bidding her farewell while she would be leaving her home with all her escort for a new place.

She had transformed within the castle’s walls, from the young stupid girl to Lady Sansa, Lady Bolton, a Lannister and the Lady of Winterfell before she became Queen in the North. Now she was leaving her only home as the Queen who united Westeros but obtained the North’s independence and the Seven Kingdoms’ unity. Jon was across the world, destroying its final old ruins while she lay foundation for the new world they would build together. Sansa closed her eyes and breathed in, the weirwood leaves, the Northern earth, the familiarity of the place, she would swear she felt Jon near her, a part of him with her, _within_ her. Tears ran down her cheeks as she stood with Rickard in her arms, burying her face in the toddler’s neck, his chubby arms wrapping around her, oblivious to their last heartfelt embrace, tomorrow their farewell would be brief for him not to suffer the separation, for her not to get too upset in her condition. When she would see him again he’d be a grown boy, he would be able to meet his cousin as the young Lord of Winterfell, hers and Arya’s children would rule the continent one day, Sansa had made sure of it.

Until then, for that very outcome, Sansa had to leave Winterfell and move to the Twins, where she and Jon would build everything from the beginning. For a world of mercy, their new world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was bittersweet to make, Sansa leaving Winterfell is a wound I couldn't avoid for the politics and proper plot of this, Sansa was to leave Winterfell a lifetime ago for KL, at least now she leaves on her own terms, ready to rule over the continent on her own terms next to the right man, at least this is what I am saying to console myself for my choice of her and Jon not staying at Winterfell...  
> the gendrya marriage had to happen and Arya had to get over her fears and denial, like the Hound did with Arya at KL, Sansa talked some reason into her stubborn wolfhead and I think it was all Arya needed to finally accept the happiness she can find next to Gendry and their son, and YES, girls in my crew give their surnames to their husbands because this is the new North and Gendry is now a Stark, taking care of his boy and the castle for the time Arya is with Sansa at the Neck...  
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter, I loved making it, next chap, Jon's pov reaching KL..... 
> 
> thank you very much!


	33. Jon XVI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new chapie, a bit short but necessary!

_Chapter Thirty Three - Jon XVI_

_“My father taught me big men fall just as quick as little ones if you put a sword through their hearts.”_

The air hitting upon Jon’s face was warm and moist, nothing like the Northern cold. In the past weeks venturing South, he had gotten used to the warm breezes. Balerion’s scales were heated beneath his body as they both flew through the scarce clouds towards the capital of the Seven Kingdoms. Jon held onto the spikes of the dragon’s neck, flexing his fingers, eyes watching down below. 

The sea of Blackwater Bay gave honour to its name, the pale moon in the sky above bathed King’s Landing in a pale silver light, extinguishing the red of the brick roofs, causing the body of water to look like liquified obsidian. The first time he had reached the city of King’s Landing had been through fire and blood, he had seen only a few streets amidst the chaos of that unfair batter upon a city surrendered. The next time he saw the city had been from the air like now, but back then he had been in a mad frenzy to reach the dragonpit on time for the Great Council. 

Now, as he reached the capital of the kingdoms that belonged to him, Jon could see with dread in his heart that the city of his ancestors had once established; had never recuperated from Cersei’s reign nor from Daenerys’ conquest. Entire districts had remained leveled to the ground, even though there had been years ever since the sacking of the city. The space Jon guessed once was occupied by the Sept of Baelor -where Sansa had been forced to marry Tyrion Lannister, Jon’s thought invaded his mind without his will, making his jaws lock tightly- had remained vacant. Jon could imagine there hadn’t been enough gold to erect houses of faith when the subjects starved to death after the savage war. Even the Red Keep had remained shorter, towering over the city still; like a carcass of what Aegon the first had built and Daenerys the first had left behind her. Even if he had lived in it for a few brief weeks before he left for the journey North, only now Jon could see its actual reduced size. 

The city was silent in the night and Jon had preferred it that way, the people of King’s Landing had been through enough misery and agony. Jon was certain a coup had already taken place while he saved Dorne, he wondered with a pang of fear in his heart if Davos had survived the betrayal. Guilt dripping into his soul as he remembered Lady Davos at Harrenhal. He hadn’t exchanged a word with a single soul since he left Dorne, wishing to reach the capital before Manfrey could organise and use the people as a human shield. 

Everything was eerily silent beneath him, no one expecting the dragon in the middle of the night, everyone expecting the dragon nonetheless. The same dragon Jon hoped he would use as an equaliser for the future, not as a demon who destroyed everything. Jon fought back the echoes from the past,, screams, cries, that thudding of dragonfire rained upon the innocents. Little children burnt, mothers clinging onto their charred remains, soldiers burning within their own armors. Surrendered troops had met the fate they had tried to avoid by surrendering. Jon took a deep breath, leading Balerion slightly lower so they could both inspect the city defenses. 

There were scorpions across the fortification of the city, manning the port too, yet nothing had been fired yet. Jon was certain that would change by Manfrey’s orders the moment the dragon would be spotted. Jon and Balerion had already passed those lines, yet, he could spot more scorpions perched upon and around the Palace. The scorpions upon the walls would be the first to burn, signaling his arrival for the rest to either hide or run. Balerion was silent and high above in the sky still, if they made it unharmed during the landing on the Red Keep’s terrace, they could have the minimum of casualties. If not, Jon intended on attacking only the palace -and that upon its main parts and not the towers which by collapsing, would kill hundreds- sparing as many as possible from his dragon and by his sword. 

His sword, Jon’s eyes drifted close, bringing the last moment with Sansa in his mind, considering what he had done to her cloak before leaving. Hoping it would be enough, if Kinvara’s -and his own fire dreams- were correct, that would be enough for Lightbringer to come upon his sword. For the people to believe, for no more blood to be shed, for stupid legends to finally come to an end and new ones to establish his and Sansa’s reign upon the Seven Kingdoms and the North. 

Dragon and rider had a sharp descent, hoping for a quick flight around the palace to torch the scorpions and have a fast landing upon the Red Keep. However Balerion screeched as he plunged left to avoid a bolt fired by the only scorpions that could actually reach them from the Red Keep’s courtyard. Jon held tighter at the spikes of his dragon as the two continued with speed, Balerion folding his wings and stretching his neck, Jon felt the already warm body beneath him turning hot. 

‘Dracarys!’ he commanded and his dragon obeyed the moment the scorpions, used by Dornish troops loyal to Manfrey Martell, turned into pieces under the dragonfire that fell upon them. Balerion spread his wings sharply, putting distance between the building’s left wing and himself and his rider. Jon pivoted the black beast forward, the dragon’s neck stretching down as he breathed more fire on another scorpion aiming at them. 

‘Jikagon bē, pār rȳ se gaomagon, pār tegun.’ Jon’s orders were plain and simple, he had been connected deeply with the dragon through fire and blood and knew of his impulses, allowed and uncontrolled by his previous rider. Balerion was still young but not a child, he had to be in control if Jon wished for the people not to corner him one day and kill him like it had happened in the past. ‘Dracarys!’ he commanded again as they reached the other side of the Red Keep, Balerion burnt down the rest of the scorpions. Screams and bells echoed across the city, signaling Jon’s arrival, the Keep’s swift fall, the nightmare for the people reawakening even if they knew Aegon wasn’t like Daenerys Targaryen. Fear worked like a reflex and Jon couldn’t blame them. 

Balerion landed on all fours with a massive thud and a screech that had the few troops defending Manfrey Martell who was already there, waiting for Jon. Jon dismounted easily, releasing his sword from its hostler, holding it with both hands and focusing on what he knew was the true meaning of lightbringer. 

Balerion breathed fire upon Jon, fire the warrior couldn't feel for he was a dragon and he couldn’t burn, just like in Volantis. Dragonfire that ignited upon Longclaw, setting the valyrian blade on fire instead of melting it. 

Legends, symbolism, songs and myths, they were all needed for the people to appreciate and accept what Jon and Sansa had bled to obtain. The man who came back from the dead, King Aegon the Devoted, Azor Ahai, the Prince that was Promised, the Last Dragon. Jon didn’t care of the titles as long as he saw Martell’s men bowing down to him, throwing their weapons before Manfrey’s disbelieving eyes. 

That coup had been doomed, both Jon and the Prince knew it. Yet the Dornish nobleman had chosen to make a last stand for his betrayal by showing up and Jon was willing to let his enemies talk, explain, he was ready to listen before he put an end… 

‘King Aegon… Jon Snow…’ the man’s mocking tone had his soldiers remain frozen on their spots as Balerion roared in anger, Jon approached, his sword flaming in his good hand. 

‘Where is Davos?’ Jon asked, realising his loyal counselor was nowhere to be seen. Manfrey nodded, smiling brightly, hysterically, glancing at Balerion who calmed enough to pin his eyes upon him. 

‘I allowed him to write his own letter… reaching you in that cursed wolf’s den… but he had discovered my links to Essos…’ Manfrey admitted and Jon’s teeth gritted in fury. Another friend, another mentor was gone and Jon hadn’t been around to help him. 

‘I can imagine your motive for all this…’ Jon’s words were curt, calculated, the fire of the sword no longer warming his body or heart. 

‘And you imagine correctly, Jon Snow… The simplest and strongest of them all…’ Manfrey’s voice broke as anger seeped in. ‘Revenge, for Ellia, for my House…’ Manfrey admitted, seething in anger. ‘Although at first, I had a glimpse of hope for you… at first I was deceived you were different.’ Manfrey added, a sorrowful chuckle choking him.

‘At first, I tried not to judge you for your father’s sins, the sins that dishonored my House before any Lannister could… for your mother’s nature and the way she became Rheagar’s whore…’ Manfrey’s words had Jon reaching closer, the soldiers around the two men scattered, never raising from their knees to save their lives as they crawled away. ‘But you proved yourself exactly the same, their treacherous blood….taken up with another Stark bitch, spoiled and used by the Lannisters and Boltons… your own sister turned cousin…’ Manfrey’s words poured out of his mouth like a poison, spat in the air, Jon raised his sword. He had expected nothing less, the insults upon himself meant nothing, the hatred coating the man’s voice over Sansa struck many nerves however. 

‘And now she’s carrying another bastard, just like your mother had done with you while Ellia Martell had given two legitimate children to the thrice cursed Rhaegar Targaryen…’ the man spat on Jon’s boots after his final words. Balerion walked on all fours behind Jon, approaching the men, Jon saw the flicker of terror upon Manfrey’s mad gaze. 

‘You had once asked me if my plans for the North included the dragon…’ Jon remembered the day he had left with Sansa, recalling their last conversation. He decided not to give the man the satisfaction of his reaction upon his words, he wasn’t there for that, he was done arguing with others over Sansa. ‘I had answered to you that _all_ plans include the dragon.’ Jon added as he reached swiftly and thrust his flaming sword through Manfrey’s belly, hot blood spilling quickly on the pommel and his fist as the man gasped his final breaths. ‘I’m done apologising for my parents, houses and the past… I will never apologise for my wife and child…’ Jon grunted through his teeth as he withdrew his sword and Balerion launched forward, his long neck serving his jaws to grab and eat the dying man. There was no sound as the man was devoured by the dragon, blood and pieces of dornish silk falling on the ground of the terrace, painted red. 

Jon closed his eyes, breathing heavily, his sword extinguished, the flames dying down until it felt cold to the touch again. The battles were over, blood had been spilt, possibly the minimum a Westerosi war had seen, but still, it was blood Jon had drawn and that was a burden he would gladly live with as long as everyone was safe, as long as Sansa was protected from their enemies. 

_‘I will protect you, I promise.’_

Jon raised his head, the stars glimmered above, Balerion remained in his vision as Jon looked up, the dragon waited patiently for him, his long neck crooked to look down at his rider. They both allowed the Dornish men to scatter, along the hundreds inside the palace to spread the word of Lightbringer and the unburnt last Targaryen. By the time they would be reaching the Twins, songs would already be made. 

‘Ivestragī's jikagon naejot īlva arlie lenton.’ Jon whispered the destination, yes, a new home, a home away from the echoes of the past of a city doomed in pain. Like with the Wall, Jon was done with King’s Landing. Too many had died, from Ned to Bran Stark. Sansa would never return to that golden cage, Balerion would never be safe after what Daenerys had made him do while he was still Drogon and Jon never belonged to that bloody city and its Keep, there was no chance in the Seven Hells Jon would have his child born there, raised over a graveyard of the old world.

Jon climbed upon Balerion once again, urging him to take off, the beast obeyed, heading North, towards the Twins, towards the rest of the family. 

Once, the same dragon, under a different name,under a different rider, had leveled the city and then burnt the Iron Throne. Once, the same man, under a different identity, a different -fractured- soul had allowed all the tragedy to unfold. Now, they were both reborn and ready, redeeming the city and the continent with a war fought and won on their own to save them all. 

Fire and Blood had succeeded to achieve peace at last, as Balerion flew across Westeros. Aegon Targaryen yearned to reach his own blood, his love, his Queen, the mother of his child as he could only imagine her belly heavy with their babe by now, knowing Sansa Stark waited for him at the Twins, she was safe, powerful and she was finally protected. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jon is done talking and reasoning with people, like before s7&8...  
> manfrey knew he was doomed and jon knew too but the man wished to have a last stand on his ideas of the past and revenge, at last all conflict is over with the minimum of blood spilt and I think Jon deserves a big applause for unleashing all the fury on the fleet and not on the city or his final enemy who was doomed anyway, Jon knows when to be the angry dragon but he also knows when to be coldblooded and calculated, and his only priority is to reach Sansa so he was as quick as he could, not endangering Balerion (who also deserves better *glaring at Daenerys Targaryen's portrait*  
> thank you very much for reading!!! next chap: THE REUNION OF THE WOLF AND THE DRAGON!!!


	34. Sansa XVII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the reunion chapter, as it had to be, I think this chapter has it ALL

_Chapter Thirty Four - Sansa XVII_

_‘When Ice and Fire meet, blood will be spilt, fire will rain down upon the world until Westeros is purged, of all the unclean and treasonous.’ Kinvara’s sinister smile imprinted amidst the chaos._

_‘Azor Ahai…’ the priestess’ gaze pinned on the young Queen, searching, scalding._

Sansa’s eyes snapped open, a gasp released from her lips, her hand already clutching at her belly as she frantically looked around the new chambers. Kinvara was only a ghost of her nightmares, Sansa knew, even on the loose, the Red Woman would never make it to the Queen’s chambers. All kinds of nightmares had returned since Sansa left Winterfell, cut from the stem that kept her strong for years. 

Arya woke up next to Sansa, sitting up, eyes searching her sister’s, her hand already on Sansa’s back, running circles in what Arya had been attempting on comfort, used to Sansa’s night terrors in the past days. Sansa nodded in reassurance, her hand reaching to her face, brushing the sweat from her brow. Arya waited for orders, she had never been good with words but she had insisted on sleeping with Sansa from the day they reached the Twins, weeks ago; to guard and protect her sister in the best way she knew how, with her life. 

‘Should I fetch Wolkan?’ Arya asked softly, glancing at Sansa’s belly, as if on cue, Sansa gasped and placed her hand upon it again, feeling the hard kick inside. The babe had been quickening for a couple of weeks now, strong and uneasy, and Jon was away, missing on his child’s first movements. Sansa fought the urge to cry, to scream and kick herself, she looked around the still unfamiliar room. 

The Twins were a foreign place, a place with Stark ghosts lurking around the corners and in the dark alcoves. Sansa had made sure she set up the household in the tower the Freys used less, in the tower that the Red Wedding hadn’t taken place. She wouldn’t have been able to hold court in the room her mother and brother had been slaughtered, where Robb’s child had been mutilated from within its mother’s womb. Sansa clutched at her own belly, trying to sooth the little one inside.

‘Please do,’ Sansa answered differently than in the times before. All the previous nights, Sansa had dismissed Arya’s worry, willing both back to sleep. But tonight, she needed space and some moments alone. Once Maester Wolkan was back with her sister, she could ask for a draught, but at that very moment, she needed to be alone. 

Arya was already at her feet, in breeches and a shirt, leaving the chambers herself to bring the man for the Queen. Ghost had left a few days ago to hunt, Sansa remained alone in the massive chambers.

The tears fell freely the moment Arya’s retreating back was lost in the dark corridor. The guards at the door didn’t intervene, out of duty, out of respect. The door closed and the first sob ripped through Sansa’s lips; almost violently. 

She knew the whispers were true, no raven had reached the Twins but everyone knew of the Night of Fire, as the people already called the swift attack of Jon and Balerion upon King’s Landing. Balerion had fed on Manfrey Martell, she knew that too, word had spread; only this time Jon hadn’t sent a raven to verify it. She was sure he would be arriving soon, she knew the loneliness and fear -despite her entire household established by her side and at her command- would soon be over. And yet, she cried like the stupid girl she was back in King’s Landing. 

‘Jon…’ his name was a whimper in the night as she struggled to calm down, feeling the kicking in her belly, the babe was as restless as she. Her back screamed for her to lay back and she would have but her heart leaped to her throat at the sound she had once dreaded so much, only now she welcomed it more than anything. 

A dragon’s screech, followed by the flapping of wings, approaching. 

Sansa swayed as she bolted to her feet, grasping the post of her bed to steady herself. In her frenzy to reach outside, she grasped her long silk robe, throwing it around her, knowing he would scold at the thin layers of fabrics of her attire while standing in the cold of the river. Her mind was hazy with all that was proper and her anguish to reach for Jon, knowing deep inside her he must have felt the same. The slippers on her feet made her steps light as she opened the door and rushed outside her chambers. 

Voices tailed behind her, of Arya’s, Wolkan’s too, the sound of Brienne’s armor as she rushed behind her. Sansa moved through the corridors and corners until she was reaching the stairs leading to the bridge connecting the towers, hoping Jon would notice where she was so he could land close to her with his dragon. Her hair spilled around her, free and flowing along the silks of her gown and robe, all blowing in the breeze. 

It was a cloudy night, the moon a slice of light in the dark canopy. Sansa waited, looking up, trying to spot the figure within the clouds. Another screech, she shivered, the humid breeze and the descending gigantic lizard finally visible in the horizon, closer than Sansa had expected. She could almost make out the figure upon Balerion’s back. More tears gathered in her eyes. 

He was back to her. 

The war was over. 

Jon was back. 

He had destroyed all their enemies, all the obstacles, while she built their rule, while she held their child safe inside her. 

Balerion roared as he landed with a grunt, the landing heavy, rippling through stone, felt at Sansa’s feet. She waited, suddenly frozen in time and space. So many moons ago, she was watching the same landing in the dragonpit, rigid in terror. Now she was rigid in astonishment, the realisation of how far they have gone washing over her, another massive shiver leaked down her back, setting her legs in motion finally. She started walking, striding, running the few yards separating her from the dragon who looked at her and only leaned on its side for his rider to dismount. 

And the rider did, in his dark clothes, armor and wild hair. His own feet carrying him towards her, breathing heavily, eyes astonished at her sight, arms opening for her. 

They collided in a hug of black and white, of clean copper hair and tangled, dirty raven black curls. Lavender oils and soap mingled with the foul smell of battles and sweat. She had smelled that odor on him before, the smell of victory, bitter and salty after the battle of the Bastards. Sansa only held Jon closer to herself, like she had done in Castle Black, realising he had lifted her off her feet now, just like back then, holding her to him for dear life. 

‘Sansa…my Sansa...’ the gruff whisper of her name in her ear, it was all real, he was back, she was in his arms and nothing else could separate them, the realisation had his name whimpered from her lips.

After a few moments Jon set Sansa down to her own feet and held her at arm’s length for him to take her in. His eyes wide and disbelieving as he set them on her belly. ‘Look at you,’ the whisper was barely audible in her ears, awe painting. Sansa wasn’t sure what to say, or if she was able to say anything at all at the sight of his astonishment, of the tenderness in his eyes. Jon’s look upon her had silenced her, the adoration in his eyes was wild, the happiness so raw it must have made his once wounded heart swell in his ribcage. ‘My love, my beautiful Queen, my heart and soul.’ his tone was dark, like his eyes, like her desire for him, the yearning that built up through the moons they were away from each other, unbearable now.

Sansa’s hands were resting on Jon’s shoulder and forearm as he looked back at her eyes, leaning in for a fierce kiss that stole her breath away as she responded without a second thought. Their arms were everywhere again, holding, grasping, caressing, clawing at each other. Sansa’s front pressed against the metal of his armour, their babe kicked again within her and her hand shot to his, pulling it from her hip to the side of her belly, wanting him to feel their babe quickening. It would have been the only reason for Jon to break the kiss, and the sweet trick worked as Jon gasped at the end of their kiss. His eyes wide again, moving between his wife’s belly and her eyes, his hand flat on her belly, feeling the movement beneath. 

‘Is this normal?’ the concern in his voice, the voice of a warrior who left when she was still flat and reunited with her now that the babe was formed inside her… it made her chuckle in tears she hadn’t realised had gathered in her eyes. She nodded her head frantically. 

‘Absolutely,’ Sansa reassured, sniffing and brushing the tears away, her heart swelling at the sight of Jon’s astonishment. ‘Kicking...stretching.’ she explained softly and Jon’s face finally broke into a smile, still in awe as he sunk to his knees. The first and last time he had knelt before his Queen was to reassure her of his return from war, now he was back to close that circle, kneeling before her belly. 

‘Kicking… stretching…’ he repeated, mostly to himself, his voice gentle, hands soft on either side of her belly before his lips could kiss above her navel. Sansa’s hands held him close, caressing his scalp, lost in the wild curls. She could see the realisation washing over him, she had changed into larger clothes, had seen the change, felt it every day, first as pain on her back, then as the little life inside her moving, tiny legs and hands kicking in there. More tears ran down her face as she shivered again and only then Jon looked up at her. ‘You must be cold, out on the bridge just in that silk.’ Jon’s overprotectiveness made her laugh again, she couldn’t counter him however, her toes were cold and her hands shaking she only now was realising. 

He was up to his feet and escorting her towards the tower in no time, Brienne had remained behind, waiting along Arya who held a fur and Wolkan who remained with the women to expect the Queen and King. 

Sansa took the furs from her sister as Arya flunk herself on Jon who hugged her back eagerly, happily. Jon was surprised to find her there, Sansa could see. 

‘Rickard is with his father in Winterfell… Gendry and Arya married before we moved here.’ Sansa filled him in and Jon’s eyes grew wide as he looked at Arya’s rolling eyes. 

‘Aye how about that, you’re a married lady now.’ the statement won a punch on the shoulder and a chuckle from Sansa at Arya’s face who grew dark as she looked at her sister but said nothing. 

‘You’re finally here, so I can go sleep on my own bed, your wife’s snoring like a dragon.’ Arya jested darkly and Sansa laughed. 

‘I do not!’ She countered and Jon laughed. 

‘She does not!’ Jon countered hotly for his wife, smiling sweetly at her, looking at her as if he’s setting his upon the most important thing in the world. Sansa knew that for him, she was exactly that, her heart swelled at the thought, her skin aching to be touched by Jon again. Arya made a gagging noise and pushed Jon towards Sansa who readjusted the furs over her shoulders. 

‘While the reunion was taking place on the bridge, I ordered a bath for the King of the Seven Kingdoms and I was right to… Jon, you stink.’ Arya added and Jon laughed shyly. 

‘I wanted to reach you,’ his eyes traveled from Sansa, forcefully, to the rest. ‘All of you, the soonest.’ he explained and Arya snorted. 

‘We’re sure you missed us all the same… now take him upstairs and don’t let him out of that bath until he smells like a King again.’ Arya commanded her sister, Jon laughed as he reached Sansa, allowing Arya to shove him towards his wife. ‘Then the Maester should examine both of you.’ Arya added as Jon took her hand and kissed it, Sansa took him with her. 

‘She’s become so motherly!’ Jon complained loudly for Sansa to laugh and Arya to shout a “shut it” from behind them. 

‘A proper lady I would say.’ Sansa added, lighthearted, happy, _joyous_ at the family moment as Arya screamed Sansa’s name in warning, echoing through the corridors, her distancing tone holding mirth in it. 

The couple looked at each other as they walked alongside each other. Sansa felt she needed to explain everything he had missed. Jon’s eyes were shining with adoration as he looked her up and down again and again, always lingering on the swell of her belly. 

‘The journey here was easy. The Knights of the Vale and Guards from the Riverlands had secured it. Brienne is our Guard’s commander, I gave her the position, she deserves it, I believe. I have commanded for expansion works to take place on the courtyards, we need larger stables, a larger rookery since so many ravens arrive every day.’ Sansa led Jon towards their chambers, he had remained silent, stunned into silence as they passed through corridors with the Targaryen Dragon and the Stark Wolf upon them. ‘A new archmaester will reach Winterfell soon, since I needed Wolkan with me for the delivery…’ Sansa added as they entered the room, warm because of the fireplace, with a steaming tub before it. ‘I made sure we’re occupying the tower less used by the Freys…’ Sansa added and only then her voice cracked, Jon reached for her face with soft hands, hooking her chin gently, stealing a tender kiss from her lips. 

‘You’ve done an amazing job, we’ll make this place our home, I promise.’ Jon whispered, Sansa finally smiled and nodded tearfully. 

‘The baby, the pregnancy makes me very emotional, you should know that too.’ Sansa warned and Jon laughed softly.

‘Oh that will be a change,’ Jon commented with a smile that seemed unable to leave his face, Sansa narrowed her eyes at him. 

‘Are you calling me cold?’ she asked in warning, her eyes however were full of mirth. Jon shook his head quickly. 

‘Of course not, my Ice Queen.’ Jon countered and Sansa laughed as he helped her get his armor and clothes off his body. 

‘They also call me Sansa the Loved.’ she fought back playfully to defend her infamous icy demeanor. Jon only then sombered and stole another kiss, this time more heated as their voices quieted, the tension between them growing. 

‘You are Sansa the Most Beloved.’ Jon whispered, his arms wrapping around Sansa who wrinkled her nose at him. 

‘The pregnancy also makes my nose sensitive… Arya is right, you need a bath, my love.’ Sansa broke the kiss with a chuckle. He wasn’t going anywhere, no more wars, no more fear or looming doom over their heads. This much was certain, they had all the time in the world. She took a deep breath at the notion, it was them from now on. Jon chuckled but nodded his head, after their reunion, the feelings running wild, they could enjoy each other as husband and wife, something they had enjoyed only for a night between their wedding in the Godswood and his departure from Winterfell. 

‘You’re right, I need a bath desperately.’ Jon added smiling, his dirty clothes discarded along the armor. 

‘I’m sure Arya has ordered for food to be sent.’ Sansa added and Jon smiled grateful as he moved towards the bath while Sansa took off her robe and pushed a chair close to the bath, admiring her husband’s naked body as he sunk in the hot water, she opened bottles set in a basket by the tub, filling the water with oils, taking a sponge and soap, appreciating there were no new scars upon his skin. 

Jon hummed out in relief of his stiff muscles submerging inside the hot water, his head leaned towards Sansa for her to clean his hair. It was a moment of love they could get used to, a domestic life they always yearned for. Someone knocked on the door gently, left a tray full of food as the couple had expected; sent from Arya, and retreated, leaving the two alone.

Sansa worked through the dirt and knots with water and soap while Jon kissed her thighs, caressing her belly from where he sat in the water. Sansa didn’t care they were spilling water everywhere as she reached for the carafe with fresh water to wash the soap away. Jon’s hand moved to one of her cafs, his hand hot upon her cold feet. He sat straighter in the tub, lifting her legs off the floor, taking off the slippers and bringing them in the warm water, it was his turn to take care of his wife. Sansa moaned in pleasure as Jon pressed his soaking fingers around her ankles. 

‘Does that feel good, sweetheart?’ Jon asked in a gruff voice, Sansa nodded, perched on her chair, one hand on her belly, the other pushing her fingers through his hair, combing it back and away from his face. Her eyes locked with his, her breathing heavy, quickened, as Jon leaned forward and kissed her knee, one wet hand snaking from her ankle, squeezing her calf and from there reaching the inside of her thigh, going up until Sansa felt Jon’s wet fingers on her equally wet smallclothes. ‘How would that feel, Sansa?’ Jon begged the question and Sansa could only help him by opening her legs for him, untying the laces of her smallclothes on the side, allowing them to open before him. The sight had him moaning, kissing her knee with lips and tongue, same way he wanted to kiss her cunt. His fingers reached for her, Sansa stifled a moan as her hand cupped over his on her body. 

‘Oh it would feel great, my King.’ Sansa replied in a breathless reply, causing Jon to kneel in the hot water of the tub and pull Sansa’s hips at the edge of the chair, setting her feet at the metallic edge of it. He wrapped one arm around her waist, pillowing her lower back and opening her to him as his other hand remained on her cunt, one finger going in, they both moaned at the sensation, Sansa held herself with one hand clutching at the chair while the other held at Jon’s shoulder. He leaned in, first kissing her belly, angling his head to taste her cunt. 

‘Jon…’ Sansa breathed his name, thrusting her body towards him, arching the best she could for him to lick, bite and nip at her throbbing clit while he thrust one and then two fingers inside her. ‘Gods, I’ve missed you,’ She cried out as he found the perfect rhythm. It was heaven, his fingers curling within, his tongue sucking at her nub of nerves. She hadn’t realised how much she had missed the physical aspect of their relationship through the months of transition of all kinds. Now she was only grateful he found her desirable in her condition and was currently between her shaking legs, bringing her to the edge and over it in a matter of moments. She was moaning out her pleasure, his name a broken prayer as she spasmed around his fingers, on his tongue, unable to hold back or calm down. Her high was powerful, even surprising him who remained a dutiful King and rode out her orgasm with his mouth on her. He raised his head only when she was done, left gasping and shaking to look at her. 

‘That was intense… and fast.’ Jon commented darkly, his lips swollen and his beard glistening. Sansa chuckled, unable to feel the smallest of remorse at her wantonness regardless of having heard around the tower. 

‘Oh it was.’ she agreed, wincing only when she moved her arched back and let her legs touch the ground, reaching closer to Jon who wrapped both arms around her and kissed her fuller breasts. ‘I think it’s the pregnancy…’ Sansa added, discovering yet another new territory with him. 

‘And not my experienced mouth?’ Jon asked teasingly, his teeth tugging at the V opening of her gown, looking up at her with a wolfish smile upon his wicked lips. 

‘That too, I am sure.’ Sansa whispered as Jon stood up, Sansa bit her lip at the sight of his erect cock, dripping with water, like the rest of his body. She looked up at him this time, desire and passion in their heated gazes. Jon moved out of the tub and reached for Sansa, taking her in his arms, one arm behind her knees, the other supporting her back, causing her to squeal and the silk of her gown to cling to his wet body as he took her to the bed. 

‘Jon!’ Sansa called out, surprised at his strength after fighting and travelling for so long without pause. He smiled at her, laying her carefully on the mattress, climbing over her carefully and stealing another kiss from her lips as he nestled between her legs. His hands caressed one breast, making her shiver in anticipation, while the other held his body above hers, his taut stomach brushed against her swollen belly, Jon’s eyes looked at Sansa with that worry and hesitation she knew so well. 

‘Is this safe? For the babe?’ Jon asked, Sansa knew he would stop if she simply shook her head, putting her safety and their baby above any desire, he had been a man of honour, always, a man of discipline and restraint. Brave, gentle and strong in every way. ‘Fuck, Sansa, I am so sorry, I didn’t think -I…’ Fresh tears had gathered in her eyes, sending him into a state of alarm as he tried to move off her, Sansa held him to her with arms and legs, shaking her head with a smile.

‘It’s completely safe, I promise.’ Sansa replied quickly and Jon exhaled, one hand reaching for the tears that fell into her hair. 

‘Then why the tears?’ Jon whispered the question, still confused, his eyes, his plain thinking, he had only asked a safety question, but in her eyes, that question had been so much more, felt deep inside her soul. 

‘It’s the pregnancy!’ Sansa felt exasperated all of a sudden, laughing through the tears despite the heated moment, causing Jon to finally exhale a chuckle himself. ‘Just kiss me,’ Sansa added dismissively and she was only glad her husband obeyed the order and did just that. Their tongues touching, moaning in each other’s mouth with need, with love and desire that had been eclipsed by war once again. 

They were soon attuned again, kisses on the lips, trailing down to the sensitive skin of the neck, teeth scraping here and there, hands caressing over heated skin and jagged scars upon it. Bodies melted against each other in need and love as Jon finally pushed inside Sansa, his cock stretching her, filling her until he was buried to the hilt. Time slowed down as they remained still for a moment, Sansa moaned, his name followed in a whisper of pleasure against Jon’s lips while he inhaled with a frown of bliss carved upon his face, their foreheads resting against each other. 

Sansa broke the spell by wrapping her arm around Jon’s shoulder, her legs opening wider, her knees brushing his sides, causing both to gasp as he went even deeper.

‘Sansa…’ his moan agonised as he withdrew before he could thrust back in, cauxing both into motion as Jon started thrusting and Sansa met him each time, moving her own hips against him. 

‘Jon.. yes, don’t… don’t stop.’ Sansa begged, interrupted by a hungry kiss, his thrusts deep and persistent, his hands roaming over the wet shift of silk, pulling her left breast out, breaking the kiss to launch on it hungrily. 

‘Sansa... never love!’ Jon grunted a breathless promise against her dark nipple, continuing, hissing at the sensation of Sansa’s nails trailing down his shoulder blade, the sting would be felt til the morning. He thrusted faster, his hand feasting in her hair, pulling her head back to expose her neck for his hungry lips. Sansa cried out, clinging to him, her heels locking against his lower back, urging him on. ‘So hot, so wet for me… so beautiful!’ he murmured on her skin, face buried in her neck, his back was probably burning at the angle, not crushing her belly, thrusting hotly in her, they were grinding against each other just the right way.Sansa reached for Jon’s hair, pulling at it as she felt her body snapping, the hot coil tightening so much she couldn’t stop the screams from her lips, her entire body tingled and burnt and shivered as she arched against him, lost in the waves of pleasure washed over her body. 

She heard him following, rutting inside her, his moans and groans loud and so alive over hers; only prolonged her own pleasure as they both held onto each other for dear life. 

Jon pulled out and collapsed next to Sansa on the bed, both wet and exhausted, breathless and shivering on the wet fabrics. Jon forced himself to drag the cover over them both before he could pull Sansa in his arms, her belly poking against him. Sharing a pillow, arms wrapped around each other, they settled to catch their breath. Jon smiled and cupped her face with his hand, trailing his calloused fingers on her soft cheek. 

‘You look beautiful,’ he whispered, his eyes taking in every detail. 

‘Sleep deprived and exhausted,’ Sansa whispered playfully as his hand moved to the swell between them. Sansa sighed at the feel of his touch on her skin. 

‘And yet so beautiful,’ he insisted and Sansa looked at him in disbelief. ‘I couldn’t wait to see you again… Radiant, full with our babe…’ Jon mused to himself as he admired Sansa who couldn’t help but chuckle and kiss him this time. She had embraced the changes on her body but she couldn’t help but feel flattered at her husband’s sweet words. 

‘She’s keeping you awake?’ Jon asked and Sansa smiled at his persistence on the baby being a girl. Her smile was tender and sweet as Jon moved within the fur entirely to kiss her belly again and again. Her own hands moved there and his wet hair. ‘My Lyarra, I promised I would return.’ Sansa heard from within the furs and took a deep breath, feeling like crying all of a sudden. ‘I always keep my promises to you and your mother.’ he added and Sansa closed her eyes at the truth of his words that burnt deep within, a shaky breath escaping her caused Jon to emerge from the covers and kiss her deeply.

‘No more tears, we’re together now, forever, yes?’ Jon asked, his forehead touching Sansa’s, nuzzling her nose with his. 

‘Forever yes, more tears… depends on your daughter in here.’ Sansa confirmed honestly, causing Jon to laugh in joy of her accepting there’s a girl growing inside her mother’s womb. 

-

The King and Queen left their chambers late at noon, three days after Jon’s return and they weren’t surprised at the feast thrown in their honour and the end of the war. Edmure Tully and Sweet Robin had reached the Twins to attend the feast along houses close enough to join the celebration from the Seven Kingdoms and North alike. 

Jon and Sansa couldn’t help but enjoy the feast, the happiness for the start of their rule in common, a reason to celebrate among many. People raised their cups for Aegon the Devoted, Sansa the Loved, their baby, the start of a new era, a world of mercy and justice. 

‘My beautiful Queen,’ Jon offered his hand as the dancers started around them in the hall. Sansa smiled and accepted, he knew how much she loved songs and dances, like in Harrenhal, she stood and followed him as a happy song of Dragonwolves, recently heard in Keeps, started. 

Jon was dressed in black, the crown with the dragon head brought from Winterfell by the Queen. Sansa was dressed in dark grey, her own crown upon her brow, the wolves meeting at the joint of the circlet, her hair was up in a bun, exposing the long column of her neck. 

They swayed and clapped, held each other and laughed as the rhythm of the song carried their dance. When they shared a kiss on the lips, the Great Hall erupted with cheers and claps, banging wooden cups on the tables and wolf howls. 

‘My King,’ Edmure Tully approached the couple after several songs, with a smile on his face, as custom demanded, the Queen and King would dance with more people than each other, to the couple’s displeasure, yet the sense of duty overcame their desires. ‘Could I have a dance with my niece and Queen?’ Lord Edmure asked and Jon smiled and inclined his head as he offered Sansa’s hand to the older man. 

‘Of course, my Lord.’ Jon retreated with a smile, proper for Edmure, turned soft for Sansa who smiled back in the same way. 

‘Uncle,’ Sansa greeted her mother’s brother with a smile as they started swaying, laughing as Jon reached for Arya with mischief in his eyes, offering Arya his hand, being denied and then whispering something to Arya’s ear who made her frown and clasp his hand as if going to battle. 

‘Your Lady Mother would be so happy and proud.’ Edmure offered softly, Sansa turned solemn at the mention, she knew her uncle had the best of intentions. She also knew of the hardship he had suffered the moment he had gotten married at the Twins, from that night and on. She knew he probably saw the brutal show the Freys had given that night after the massacre of Stark and Tully troops alike. 

‘I hope she would,’ Sansa’s voice was choked with emotion, making Edmure look at his niece with a sad smile. 

‘She would, no matter what. If she knew of King Aegon, if she knew of what a good Queen you would become. She would be the happiest mother, dear niece.’ Sansa smiled, nodding, her eyes full of tears. ‘You even achieved to marry Arya to a decent man… Cat would be _ecstatic_ with you.’ Edmure added in an attempt for humour and coaxed a laugh from Sansa whose eyes fell back on her cousin and husband dancing awkwardly with Arya Stark, a married mother of a son, the new Lady of Winterfell; who danced as if she had two left feet. Sansa couldn’t help but laugh more at the notion while she danced with her uncle. 

‘We didn’t do so bad, you and I, after all, did we?’ Sansa wondered softly and Edmure smiled and nodded his head. 

‘No not bad at all, I would say.’ he agreed as they continued with their dance, they had been unlike survivors, the both of them, regardless of what their relatives and the world thought of them, they had reached the highest rank possible for themselves and their families. 

‘I think my legs would like a pause before the next Lord comes to claim a dance with me.’ Sansa commented as the song came to a close, Edmure nodded dutifully and led her back to the high table, Sansa dismissed Jon’s worried face with a smile as she indeed only needed a few moments to rest on a chair before continuing. 

Arya was soon escaping Jon’s hands, reaching the table and sitting next to her sister who smiled at her. 

‘Your dancing skills bewitched everyone around the room.’ Sansa teased Arya who growled and reached for a chicken leg from the plate before them, starting at it in the most unlady way possible. Sansa wrinkled her nose, the smile on her lips never going away. ‘How did he force you to dance in the first place?’ Sansa wondered, looking on as Edmure reached Jon with Robin and Lord Royce by his side, cups in their hands already as a serving girl brought one for Jon too. 

‘He threatened me he’d be sending you North every six months to see if I made more babies with Gendry… he’d announced it tonight.’ Arya offered bitterly, Sansa laughed out loud, reaching for her own cap with wine, sipping from it, careful not to have too much. 

‘Oh I would love to have more nephews and nieces, maybe a little princess named Sansa? If she was to take from Mother, she would have my hair…’ Sansa mused, earning a glare from Arya who shook her head and threw the chicken bone on her plate. 

‘More wine, my Queen?’ the blood red liquid poured from the carafe in Sansa’s cup without permission. The voice of the serving maid next to her chilled Sansa to the bone She would recognise it even though there had been moons since she last heard it. Sansa twirled around her chair to look up at the eyes she wouldn’t forget for the world, a fire in them burning with malice although the rest of the face was unfamiliar, those eyes and voice, she knew. From the distance she had before, while serving Jon his own wine, Sansa hadn’t seen the burning gaze but now, so close to her, Sansa was certain. 

‘Kinvara.’ Sansa shot up from her chair, throwing away the cup, the red wine staining her grey dress. The maid smirked at the Queen. Arya was on her feet too although the confusion on her face was evident. 

‘We’re all blessed for your Grace to be carrying Azor Ahai… We’re blessed we’ll be purged from traitors of the faith.’ her words and glare travelling behind Sansa’s shoulder had the young Queen’s eyes widen and her body turn. Her frightened gaze falling upon Jon who had noticed something was wrong at the high table from across the room, he was approaching as he gulped down the last of his wine, cup still at hand, eyes stormy as he approached. 

‘No…’ Sansa whispered, trying to push through Arya who had grasped the disguised Kinvara even if she only half understood what was about to happen. 

Sansa was rushing close to Jon whose eyes screwed in pain, his hand releasing the cup, grasping at his throat as the cup landed at his feet with noise. ‘Jon!’ Sansa screamed as he started coughing, his features contracting in agony. The music around them stopped, happy voices and cheers turning into murmurs as Jon tried to steady himself, his eyes confused, lost as he leaned closer to the table before collapsing on the floor, taking plates and more cups with him, his entire body convulsed as his hand reached for Sansa desperately. 

The murmurs turned into screams, Sansa’s senses caught in her haze, men were drawing their swords, not sure where the enemy was or what was happening. Jon’s crown slipped from his head as he choked, lips swollen, gasping for a breath more as more people gathered around, numb and terrified.

‘No, no, no,’ Sansa was frantic as she fell on her knees. Not another Stark, for he was a Stark to her, he wouldn’t die at the Twins while his pregnant wife watched, no. ‘You won’t do this to me, do you hear me, Jon Snow?’ Sansa’s shaking hands touched Jon’s face, desperate to help him somehow, tears blurring her vision as she realised she was screaming the words in sheer panic, her hand was hitting his chest in her mad effort to help him somehow. 

A glimpse from the distant past surged forward in her panicked mind, Cersei Lannister, powerful yet helpless and frantic as well, over her firstborn’s demise from poison.

Poison.

Her mind kicked into motion, one hand shooting up to her chest, she clawed at the vial hidden in her bosom, her skin scratched by her own nails in her frantic movements. 

Sansa tore the lid open, with shaking hands she raised Jon’s spasming head, his body shivering violently against hers as she emptied the vial inside his mouth, shutting his jaws with all her might, Jon growled in pain, tears running down his face, he soon surrendered to her forceful palms until he stilled in her arms completely, eyes rolling back until they closed. His head fell heavy against her hug, leaving Sansa breathless, wide eyed, looking at him in terror as he felt stiff and unyielding in her arms. There was no response as she shook him, desperate to coax any kind of reaction, the vial should have worked, he should live to see another day. He had promised their daughter he would be there for her. Jon couldn’t die, not after everything, not now, not for years to come, not _ever_. 

He had promised. He always kept his promises to her. He couldn't fail her now. 

People had gathered around her and Jon but Sansa couldn’t make out faces, hands were prying her away, prying him from her embrace. Arya, Wolkan, Edmure, Brienne, voices all around her, begging, demanding, shouting. Sansa screamed in agony, begging to whoever cruel God truly existed to spare him.

She clutched at Jon’s head in her lap, crying, kissing his awfully pale forehead, the scar on his brow, his closed eyes, cuddling him to her, maybe for the last time, the mere thought had her crying out to the Seven Heavens and Hells for mercy upon them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I.... I...  
> ok this had been planned since day one! many things happened in the story because readers or the characters decided to, but this had been planned since the day I decided Kinvara would be included in the story by Jon's side.
> 
> now we kinda know what the vial was, given to Sansa by Sam, my poor poor Jon, the moment he got to have Sansa back with him... in their new home. Damn it! Kinvara had been waiting for him to return, and my poor poor Sansa, from heaven to hell within three days...   
> opinions? shouts? threats? I'm here for them all!


	35. Jon XVII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaaand here we are with a new chapter and some end notes after it   
> thank you for reading!!!

_Chapter Thirty Five - Jon XVII_

_“If I Fall, Don't Bring Me Back...”_

Agony, poison coursing through his veins, a fever burning in his muscles, his blood boiling. 

Colors of copper and white, like a flickering flame, infiltrated by sky blue, his vision blurred. 

Black, a cold darkness, a cold sweat, muffled voices turning into screams, her screams. 

Anguish, fire, wildfire exploding around him, ash falling from the sky, a sinister smile holding little compassion for the graveyard the city turned into. Melting swords of a throne he set his eyes upon for mere minutes, a throne that belonged to him, a throne he never wanted. 

Children, little children burnt, dragonfire rained down upon them. 

Children… a new world, a world of mercy, a world ended both in ice and fire.

 _‘Jon…’_ her voice, a groan ripping through his lips, dripped in pain. Ice cold fingers touching his brow, or was he burning like in that pyre in Volantis? A fire so different than the one he was now in, a fire of atonement then, a fire of torment now.

 _‘Jon…’_ her voice again, panicked, coaxed by his violent tremors, her touch was hot, burning his ice cold skin, cold, so cold, like that night at the Wall, left to bleed out in the snow. 

Snow

His name. 

_‘Sansa…’_ her name, spoken by someone else, he can’t speak her name, or anything else, his tongue bitter and heavy, his eyelids unable to open to the world, his mind too numb to respond, yet her name was a hot breath of life within him, a whisper of alleviation to the torture

Sansa

Her name. 

_‘You need to rest,_ ’ words addressed to her, painted with concern and duty, another woman’s voice. 

_‘Leave me be,’_ Sansa’s voice was tired, he could understand, it was also so very close to him, her hot breath made him shiver. Her cold hands were grasping his. He wished he could tell her that shiver had been welcome but he’s too lost in the pain. 

Nightmares of dragons, of orphans and screaming women. 

_‘Your Grace…’_ her title comes in the darkness, all the titles in the world would not be enough to prove her worth. _‘You must rest…’_ he hated the world for wishing to take her away from him for she is the only lifeline he has. _‘And you must eat, the baby inside you needs you healthy and strong.’_ the voice added and he wanted to scream at her to abandon his side, to take care of the precious life within her womb.

_‘Please, go.’_ her exhausted voice replied and all the effort he wished to make only exhausted him more, throwing him deeper in the darkness. 

_‘Get out!’_ her voice snapped him out of the dull thudding of his own heart. She was angry, that he could swear upon, if he could, if he could only open his eyes or tighten his stiff fingers around her hand...

 _‘Your Majesty, I know… but you need to listen to me… It has been days since… There must be a procedure in case his Grace doesn’t make it…’_ the voice was calm, determined, he knew the voice, big man, loyal, distrusting of anything that isn’t Stark or Arryn. 

There is silence and darkness again, he’s not sure if they lasted moments, hours or an entire moonturn. It doesn’t really matter, he can’t do much about it anyway. 

_‘I have been interrogating Kinvara…’_ a voice familiar and strong, another woman, Arya. 

_‘Through torture, I hope.’_ Sansa’s voice is cold, as her demeanor, he would have remembered her ice cold demeanor everywhere, even in the sinking darkness he’s in. He had once travelled North of the Wall, the Northest a soul had ever reached, yet no ice and no blizzard compared to her stare. When his Winter Queen wished to be icy cold towards someone. Her ice had once destroyed an Unburnt, a Mother of Dragons. 

Yet she would be a Mother of Dragons herself, oh how angry she would be at him if he could just tell her that. Or she would laugh, that sweet Spring laughter she so rarely gifted the world with. She hadn’t had many reasons to laugh in her life. He had promised he would find a way, he had promised he’d be with her, to make her smile and laugh and live and love. 

She would be protected, he had promised. 

His Queen of Dreams, his only, true Queen.

 _‘She has confessed,’_ Arya’s voice, yes. She informed Sansa who remained silent. Jon tried hard to open his eyes, to nod or groan, he only muffled a cough. Cold sweat making him shiver and tremble. 

_‘A public execution.’_ Sansa’s voice was hard. _‘After Jon has recovered.’_ she added coldly. 

_‘Sansa… that could take weeks… if-’_

_‘After Jon has recovered, Arya.’_ Sansa demanded, Jon’s effort finally achieved a squeeze around her hand. Her gasp was heartbreaking, the curve of her belly nudging his side as she climbed on the bed next to him, begging for more. He wished he could give it to her, he wished he could open his eyes, smile at her, squeeze her hand again and stroke her belly. His effort exhausted him, throwing him back into the darkness. 

_‘I swear he responded.’_ Sansa was frantic, he heard her awhile later, or was it years from the last time. 

_‘Even if he did, it has been days, my Queen. The people are worried, agitated, they want to see justice be served for their King…’_ a man was telling her, the same man who advised her to remain healthy. It seemed Sansa never abandoned the chambers Jon was in, were they in their chambers? 

All councils were taking place around the bed he was set upon. 

_‘You’ve agreed on a public execution but who is going to swing the sword?’_ the voice of the big gruff man was wondering. 

_‘I could do it.’_ Arya was offering. 

_‘No,’_ Sansa’s voice was cold, forced. She was obviously driven by the circumstances. _‘Jon once asked me, here at the Twins, what I would do if someone attempted for his or Rickard’s life… I had told him I would have given them to Ghost to tear apart, tear them into shreds… I have done something similar before... I can’t command Balerion to burn or devour her… But I can command my direwolf…’_ her voice was sharp like ice shards. She was furious, determined, hurt. Jon needed to reach out at her, cruelty didn’t suit her even though she had been cruel before. A Daughter of Songs, a little bird they had called her once, she had become the Red Wolf, the Winter Queen, yet he wanted to be the monster, he wanted to spare her the pain, to spare her the decay, for he knew she wanted to be a Queen loved and not feared. 

_‘Sansa…’_ his voice gravel in his throat, his mouth dry as dornish sand, slipping down with every breath. People gathered around him, blocking the light from behind his eyelids, someone lifted his head. His eyes fluttered open, narrowing painfully. Teardrops fell upon his chin as her face was so close to his, tearful eyes blurred in his own vision, looking back at him. A smile full of fear and hope, her voice muffled before he could slip back in the black. 

Rain, the smell invaded his nostrils, refreshing, clean, fertile. The river between the Twins flowing, the sound suddenly overcoming everything else, deafening to his ears that hadn’t been used to his new home. There was a breeze and Jon shivered lightly but his skin felt soothed, not scalding hot or shivering cold. 

The fever had broken, his eyes opened only to screw again even at the flickering candlelight. He tried to focus, night had fallen, there was food on a tray next to him, by the bed. Large windows were open, allowing fresh air inside, the stars tingling on the dark canopy of the sky. His body felt heavy but he managed to turn his head ever so slightly to the other side, his eyes focusing with difficulty to the form sleeping peacefully next to him. 

Sansa was on her side, her body facing him, one arm bent under the pillow, covering her eyes with her forearm, the other hand touching the side of her belly. Sleeping with knees bent and clothed in a light shift, covered with a light blanket when he was covered with a heavy fur. He must have been feverish, but now he felt better, he felt tired, exhausted, spent, but stronger. He reached with effort towards her belly that seemed bigger than the last time he saw it. His fingers brushed over the smooth fabrics covering the large curve that now touched the mattress, Jon wished he could sit up and lean over to kiss the baby bump. In his haze, an image of a promise made to that belly rushed back in his mind, a promise to his daughter. 

His touch had Sansa squirm slightly, her hand travelling to his probably ticklish fingers, her grasp surprised her, causing her to remove her arm from shielding her face. Her eyes opened, confused and narrowed as well, unfocused until she realised she was touching him and he was moving his hand back, looking at her with all the effort he made to remain focused on her. He would swear he was also achieving a smile for his wife and Queen. 

‘Gods, Jon!’ Sansa raised quickly to her knees, reaching him with her hands everywhere as if she had just found him there, making sure he was real, in a way she had just found him again in more than one way. ‘Jon.’ she sobbed, her hands finally closing around his face, her warm mouth kissing his chapped lips. She was crying freely, so suddenly he felt the urge to stop her, his concern chocking him in the effort. ‘I must fetch Maester Wolkan!’ she tried but Jon found the strength to grasp her arm, halting her. 

‘No, stay with me and please, don’t cry,’ he tried and wasn’t sure if she understood him, she was nodding her head frantically, more tears falling from her beautiful blue eyes. 

‘Don’t speak, rest... I know, I won’t cry,’ she sobbed harder, giving and staying with him, Jon wished he could chuckle and hug her but he still felt so weak. 

‘The babe?’ Jon tried again, his voice a little more steady, still gruff and heavy. How many days had passed since he fell in the Great Hall?

‘She’s fine, growing,’ Sansa reassured, taking one hand again with her own, placing it on the top of her belly between them. He smiled at the warm skin beneath the shift’s thin material. Her belly was indeed bigger. 

‘How?...’ Jon asked, trying to understand how he even survived. Sansa sighed, raising his palm to her lips, kissing the trembling away. 

‘Sam…’ Sansa smiled, Jon suddenly remembered that day of their departure from King’s Landing, when Sam had given her the jar for her scars and a small vial she always held with her and he many times cast aside while addressing her. ‘Once he became Bran’s Maester and Bran started getting ill… he tried to make a medicine, he didn’t know what to do… he didn’t know how to make things better…’ Sansa’s voice was grave with sorrow. Only if they had known Tyrion had been poisoning Bran. ‘But he knew one thing… he had an ingredient no one had tried in centuries… Dragon’s blood…’ Sansa added and Jon frowned in confusion. ‘He told me Rheagal’s carcass had been washed ashore after the battle of King’s Landing… he extracted all that had remained, experimented until he made an antidote for every poison there is.’ Sansa explained and Jon finally nodded, he had no idea, while at King’s Landing he had kept his distance from his friend until Sansa had urged him to speak to him. ‘He gave me the formula, he wanted Maester Wolkan to have it, and the library. He also gave me a vial of it and promised dragon’s blood would be sent North. He was worried of enemies… especially after Bran, so he gave me the vial to have it with me at all times… We would be passing through half of Westeros and he wasn’t sure of our popularity around it…’ Sansa added, tearfully again, she struggled to stop more tears from falling, she failed. Jon tried to comfort her, his fingers caressing her soft cheek as he tried to proceed the information. 

‘How long I-?’ Jon trailed off, thinking if he could calculate how long he had been out but he wasn’t sure how long it had been. He could see the hesitation in Sansa’s eyes, the tears gathered in her sleeve as she shook her head, laying by his side, her belly nudging him lightly at the ribs like when he was in the darkness. 

‘Three weeks… once or twice we thought we lost you… but you came back.’ her voice cracked, Jon forced himself to reach and kiss the top of her head. 

‘And Kinvara? The execution?’ Balerion?’ Jon’s voice returned to him with every passing syllable. Sansa looked up at him in surprise. ‘I could hear some of the things you said... ‘ he answered the unanswered question in her eyes. 

‘That was days ago… the execution is set for tomorrow… Balerion is away, no attacks on humans have been reported, nor in cattle.’ Sansa added and Jon sighed. The dragon was famished then, keeping in Jon’s order but unable to eat animals to satisfy his need. 

‘I could summon him to finish what she started with him…’ Jon offered, knowing just like Sansa that Ghost wasn’t too keen for human flesh but would execute the order just fine for the Stark that he belonged to now. Sansa shook her head, her hands soft on his chest, looking up at him. 

‘To summon him would mean you’d be present at the execution. You’re in no such state, Jon, not yet.’ Sansa whispered, propping herself on her elbow to look at him straight in the eyes. Jon was surprised he found the strength to caress Sansa’s hair, a copper sea cascading between them. He smiled at her as she leaned in to his touch although she was objecting to his intention. 

‘This is something I started, I’m done having you facing my errors…’ Jon’s voice was slightly stronger, his mouth watering slightly. Sansa shook her head but Jon nodded his own. ‘You were the target for Arya’s mistakes too…’ he added, reminding her the last time they were both at the twins.

‘But you ended up injured…’ She interejected, Jon smiled. 

‘And I would do it again.’ he deadpanned. ‘You’re done cleaning up behind others… I brought Daenerys to the North… I took her away from it and even if late to save a city, I killed her to save the rest of the world… I brought Kinvara back to Westeros and I will take her out as well.’ he added and Sansa sighed, looking down at her hand over his heart, he was certain she could feel the jagged skin even through the shirt he had been put in. 

‘Only if you can stand, only to give the order… please.’ Sansa finally gave in, they had tried so hard to find ways to communicate, to make steps forward but also step back when needed. 

‘Only to give the order, I swear.’ Jon vowed and Sansa nodded, they could trust each other, in the big and the small things. 

The following day was bright after all the rain of the previous night. People had gathered in the courtyard between the Twins, waiting, anticipating not only the execution of the sorceress but also the reappearance of their King. Word of concern and worry had reached the Twins through ravens, people had been actually worried, if Jon was to die, instability could spread around the Kingdoms once again and Sansa, recently moved from her own Seat of Power would have her hands full with new families and dynamics while the Kingdoms still struggled to feed their people and accept the new alliances. 

The choice had been made since the day the couple decided to unite realms. Sansa would be a co-regent for the Seven Kingdoms, while Jon would be her consort in the North, where only a Stark could rule the kingdom, and she would reign from afar until her abdication for Rickard on his seventeenth nameday. 

The Kingdoms, below and above the Neck yearned for stability and peace and they thirsted for justice over the attempt at the King’s life, a King who had promised a world of Mercy and had defended them against foreign invaders on his own after his return from exile, for his deeds to save the world from the eternal night had been known. 

The people gathered around the courtyard were numerous, the passage itself helping the crowds to gather from around the areas. A city had already started to expand around the rich place, soon new walls would be needed from both sides. 

Sansa and Jon were dressed in grey and black respectively, these had grown to be their colors. Sansa’s dess had a rich embodiment of scales, a small silver thread creating a direwolf on her chest, her belly protruded in the grey fabrics, a silver band held her hair up and back, the wolf circlet around her head. Jon’s crown was set on his own pale brow, a fur was unnecessary so a cloak and rich black fabrics were enough, embodied with dragon scales. 

Between black and grey, Ghost with his white fur moved between them as they walked outside towards the bridge, people started cheering even though they didn’t make the same image they had, months ago. Jon was pale and tired, moving with effort, Sansa was slower due to her condition, as tired after all those days of taking care of him. But the people didn’t seem to care, they clapped and shouted as the guard, Briene at its head was followed by the two monarchs and the direwolf. 

Jon frowned at the sunlight, his body still frail, his legs feeling odd at functioning after so long. Sansa reached for his hand, taking it and giving it a squeeze, they both knew, after that, he would need days to continue recovering. He smiled at his wife as they stood before their people, their guards surrounding them. It felt like a lifetime ago, when they both watched the public execution of Tyrion Lannister at the dragonpit, back then Kinvara had been a preacher of ethics and faith. Now she was a prisoner who had confessed her actions before them. 

Her red clothes were shrivelled and dirty, just like her face, her skin. Arya had clearly spent a lot of time with her. Poisoners were hard to be found, Sansa knew for her self as she had been blamed for years over Joffrey’s murder. Arya had done her best to make the priestess lift her disguise and confess her crime against Jon. Jon could see, his youngest cousin hadn’t spared the priestess with mercy. He was sickly satisfied the two she-wolves had taken care of the dangerous woman even though he had wished he had dealt with her before they came to that. 

He wouldn’t make the same mistakes ever again. 

As he and Sansa stood on the small podium that had been set up for them, Guards brought her forward, Kinvara stood before them, shackles around her wrists and ankles. Arya and Brienne stood behind the King and Queen, on each side, guarding them. Ghost sat on his rear legs, his red eyes never leaving the bowing woman before them.

Kinvara’s gaze was vicious, dripping with hatred as she set her eyes on Jon, her gaze turning glassy as she looked at Sansa, still unreadable, maybe there was still a ploy for her, a last card to play to save her skin. Nor Sansa or Jon were known for their mercy on confessed traitors and murderers. People were already booing, demanding an end to her, they even screamed for the dragon, the mixture of fear and excitement making the atmosphere thick with energy. 

‘You stand accused of sorcery on Lord Glover. You stand accused of giving information to Sam Rivers on mine and the King’s whereabouts, helping him reach my chambers and attempt at my life. You stand accused of attempted murder of your King, How do you answer these charges, Priestess Kinvara?’ Sansa asked when everyone had calmed down, her voice icy, infuriated. 

Jon’s head turned towards her, his eyes travelling to Arya as well. This was more than what he had expected, he didn’t know Arya had gathered more confessions from the priestess. He felt the fury boiling inside his stomach like the poison she had given him. Of course a simple man wouldn’t have made it to infiltrate Sansa’s guard back then to become a servant at the Queen’s chambers. Of course he had information, and of course, blessed by her Lord with convenience, Kinvara had warned him over the attack. 

_‘I see blood spilt too… royal blood.’ she whispered pointedly at him, her gaze unfocusing momentary, causing Jon’s blood to turn into ice._

Jon shut his eyes, focusing outwards as Kinvara raised her head to look at Sansa, hair a tangled mess, cheeks hollowed and eyes furious. 

‘Sam Rivers was a vessel in my plans, for I had seen his end already…’ Kinvara’s words were followed by a knowing smirk. ‘I only hoped the King would get in the middle entirely, for the dagger to reach his black heart instead of his arm…But the Lord had other plans.’ she added angrily, raising commotion around her as she frowned at the people who spat and threw rocks at her. ‘Plans I hoped needed alteration as I tried again with the poison here.’ she added, accepting her latest crime. ‘But for Lord Glover…. You asked me to bind him with spells!’ Kinvara tried but the people seemed the least interested in her accusation, although it was partly true, but only she, Jon and Sansa knew of that. 

‘I asked you to be at our side… to help me keep the peace through faith.’ Sansa had chosen her words carefully back then, seemingly allowing Kinvara to act upon her own devices when she was only trapping her into the use of sorcery. 

_‘Now you can obliterate her.’ Sansa was giving Kinvara to him, just like he knew she had served Baelish to Arya. A treat, a gift, the final kill just like he had done himself with Ramsay for Sansa._

‘Why the attempts on your own King?’ Sansa asked, Jon looked at his Queen before he could look at the woman who after all had lifted and purged him in Volantis, only to attempt to strike him in Westeros. Kinvara smiled, sinister, her eyes falling on Sansa’s belly. The Queen reached with her hand, as if she could shield the unborn baby from the red woman’s gaze. Jon felt the urge to reach for the priestess, rip her eyes out. 

‘Your sweet sister didn’t take all confessions from my lips, my Queen…’ Kinvara smiled at the two royals who glared at her. Arya made a step closer but Jon stopped her with a hand. ‘At the dragonpit, when I first saw you, I knew you were special but the flames were only flickering then…’ Kinvara nodded her head, almost talking to herself. ‘Time passed and at Harrenhal I knew… you wouldn’t marry Azor Ahai for he-’ she pointed at Jon with her shackled hands, anger in her eyes. ‘- is not even faithful anymore, if he _ever_ was…’ she spat the words like bile, eyes losing focus once again. 

‘But you would carry him, sweet Queen…the Prince that was Promised.’ the priestess’ eyes were wild in madness. ‘Melissandre had been wrong… _I_ brought Ice and Fire together… at Harrenhal I tried to tell you but he pushed me away from you.... At Riverrun however... I made sure..’ her tone was triumphed now, wild still. ‘Through the one true God, I made sure that his seed would take root in your womb…’ her words ignited hot spikes of fury in Jon’s heart. She was crazy and they were wasting time on listening to her, it didn’t matter if she had pushed things for them to have a child, they were having it and she wouldn’t be there to see it. ‘And now here we are… Azor Ahai is moonturn away from coming to the world… and He will be the Prince Who Was Promised, he will have Lightbringer! I have seen in the flames and I know that he-’

People were screaming by that point, anger, agitation spreading like fire, the screams turned frightened and welcoming at the same time as the flaps of winds were heard again over the Twins. Soon, Balerion was landing in the open space the crowd created for the giant lizard to land, he roared and screeched towards the prisoner between him and his master. Kinvara’s eyes for the first time seemed frightened at the realisation. Ghost wouldn’t be the one, Jon wouldn’t stain the blade of Longclaw, he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. He remained stoic, like Sansa who looked at Balerion, maybe for the first time in appreciation. 

There were no more words from the priestess as the dragon roared hungrily, he reached the woman in quick strides on all fours, his massive head rising, waiting to strike. 

‘This ends here,’ Sansa only declared and Jon nodded at Balerion, without another word the dragon advanced, clasping the woman in his jaws, jerking its head from side to side to break her bones before he could devour her. Jon watched his dragon feed, he could also see Sansa with the corner of his eye, watching every moment as well. He knew she had watched another execution with keen interest, with satisfaction.

This was the last action to close the vicious circle, a final act of severity.

Justice had been served and the world, a world of mercy would be ready to welcome their child. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to explore how is to be poisoned and struggle with recovery, I have been through food poisoning and it took days for me to fully recover, I hate how people in movies get poisoned and they are find five secs later  
> I wanted Jon to have this experience of recovery and Sansa to take care of it all while he glimpsed some pieces of reality until he made it to return  
> we learnt what the vial was all about!!!!!! dragon's blood was always an important aspect of potions and I couldn't miss the opportunity on exploring that a bit  
> as for Kinvara..... I had thrown moments of hers here and there at Harrenhal, Riverun and the Twins... apart from her conflict with Jon, she was also changing towards Sansa so... that's why, she had given that prayer to the god of light when jonsa left for their sexy times in chap13 so she made sure the baby was made... now for the prince that was promised... in the epilogue we'll know who will be right on the baby, Kinvara OR jonsa 
> 
> aaand basically only the epilogue is left to be written, we're almost done, guys, I think I've said everything I wanted to say and I did all I had hoped to do to fix season 8, the epilogue will be up in a few days hopefully, thank you all for reading, please comment and let me know what you think? thank you very much!!!!


	36. Epilogue - Summerchild

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so much for following through the story, this work got me through 2020 and I hope it was a good distraction for you too!!! thank you! Until next time....

Epilogue - Summerchild

Sansa Stark stood tall before the window overlooking the river, summertime was lovely at the Twins, she had admitted so years ago, although she had missed the cold winds of Winter as well. Soon, she would be able to move freely from winter to summer and winter again.

The Twins had changed, evolved, from a fortress to an entire city on both sides of the river, expanded to the commercial center of Westeros. Prosperous and peaceful place, like the joint reign of Houses Targaryen and Stark. Only now, the persons were changing, yet the Houses remained. 

Sansa’s and Jon’s family had expanded too, Lyarra had been born first, hair like liquid copper and dark Stark eyes, beautiful and strong. Robb had followed only a year later, Northern long face dark eyes and energy to match that of an army’s. Jon had wished for blue eyed children. _“To look at them will be like looking at you.’’_ he had whispered while stroking Sansa’s belly the third time she was pregnant and he had been rewarded. Serena Targaryen had been the spit image of her mother, copper hair and blue eyes, when angry, her icy stare could destroy through any armor. Alaric and Osric Targaryen had come to the world together, dark copper hair and hazel eyes, at first weak and tired; after a labor that had Jon and Sansa dreadfully deciding to stop having children as the delivery had almost cost Sansa’s life and the twins had needed weeks to get strong enough for the maester to stop worrying over them, although Jon and Sansa had been certain their boys would make it. 

‘Momma, will Lyarra leave us?’ her youngest, and most unexpected of her six children tugged at the skirt of her dark grey dress. Sansa smiled and looked at Raya Targaryen, crazed black curls and sparkling blue eyes, worried over the day and the ones to come. Sansa picked up her daughter of five, perching her against her hip, adjusting the small circlet of metal around her little head, brushing her lips against a chubby cheek. 

‘Of course not, your sister will become Queen of the Seven Kingdoms today… this will be her Keep.’ Sansa reassured her little one but Raya seemed unconvinced. 

‘Aunta said Lyarra and Rickard might leave once they marry.’ Raya countered, Sansa sighed and gave her little one another kiss. Rickard Stark had ascended on the Northern Throne three years ago, marking the continuation of the Stark line in the independent North, after Sansa’s abdication, and setting himself as the most wanted unmarried man across the realms. He had been turning down every single possible match and both Arya and Sansa had found it odd. Rickard had spoken of a marriage of love and his parents, aunt and uncle had agreed with him… Until Lyarra announced to them all that she and Rickard were in love. 

That had explained all the frequent visits of the firstborn Targaryen to the North upon her father’s -and later on her own- dragon. Balerion had dreaded the journeys and both Sansa and Jon had faced trouble with their councils, both northern and southern over the union but they had supported their daughter and nephew. It would have been hypocritical not to after all, the children although cousins had been raised separately and grew in love after Rickard’s coronation day and Lyarra’s extended stay at Winterfell for entire moon turns back then, she had been received with adoration, being the daughter of Sansa Stark, she was a Princess of the North as much as she was the Crown Princess of the Seven Kingdoms. 

Sansa should have realised back then, all the mood swings, the tears, the angry protest when a proposal of marriage arrived for her. But Lyarra had been a diplomat, a cunning beautiful creature with a tongue that held so much reason it was hard to yield her to anything she didn’t wish to participate in. 

Sansa had smothered the fear, Lyarra was a Targaryen, the only one who claimed Balerion, a dragonrider like her father, wishing to marry her cousin. In her darkest hours, Sansa was afraid but when she looked at the eyes of her first child, inherited by Jon, the softness there and in her soul reassured Sansa of Lyarra’s nature. She treated lords and commoners the same, she never spoke of destiny, she never threatened anyone with dragonfire, only with justice and her own sword which she yielded as well as her father and brother. 

Lyarra would be the first good regent Targaryen Queen. The Gods had tossed her coin and it had landed on the good side. 

Jon had been adamant, his daughters and sons would marry for love, he always promised, he always made sure, the day Lyarra and Rickard -the newly crowned King in the North- stood before him and declared their love and engagement, he could do nothing else but accept things himself before his own promises and the love he held for his firstborn. 

Robb Targaryen had made gagging noises until Lyarra had had enough and pulled her sword, threatening the Lord of Harrenhal who had laughed and ran away, only to come around the same day and give his best wishes to his older sister. Serena, Alaric and Osric had accepted the news with smiles on their faces and Raya had been too young to understand what was happening. Sansa was still nursing her when she signed, along with her husband, their future abdications for their daughter to become Queen at her twentieth name day, freeing her hands from councils and older men dictating protocols on her and at the same time ensuring the peace between the kingdoms through marriage. All that was three years ago, today at Lyarra’s coronation, their daughter was taking the reins of the kingdoms and after the long engagement, the date of the marriage would be set by the new monarchs. 

‘It’s time for this little princess to go with her siblings downstairs, your cousins are waiting and one of them is a King... .’ Jon’s voice had Sansa turning around with Raya in her arms, both smiled at him as he approached them with a smile on his face, dressed in his favorite color, white and silver invading his beard and hair that was pulled back in a bun. 

‘Aunta said Lyarra might leave with Rickard,’ Raya repeated as Jon kissed Sansa on the lips and then offered his hands for Raya who went willingly and squealed as Jon raised her above his head, her own red dress flowing around her, the circlet falling off her wild curls, causing Sansa to catch it before it could reach the floor. She had been accustomed to be saving objects before crushing to the floor while raising six children. 

‘Even if they do, I will command them to be visiting so you can see her.’ Jon promised and Raya laughed, trying to remain solemn. 

‘But you won’t be King!’ Raya laughed and Jon brought his youngest in his embrace only to start tickling her. 

‘Then I will have you, young princess of Dragonstone, to command them!’ he countered and they both laughed. 

‘Enough, her dress is all wrinkled,’ Sansa chastised gently, trying to put the circlet back on Raya’s head but Jon only tickled the young girl more. 

‘Where is the Princess of Chaos?’ Robb’s voice was also heard at the door, Jon and Sansa smiled at their first boy, accompanied by Cregan and Sansa Stark, their nephew and niece who smiled by Robb’s side. Raya grasped the circlet from her mother’s hands, put it on her head and leaped from her father’s arms, running to her favorite brother’s awaiting hand. She grasped it and looked up at him. 

‘I’m the Princess of Songs, that’s what Momma says.’ Raya demanded and Robb chuckled and straightened the circlet on the girl’s head. ‘Will Lyarra leave?’ she demanded the same question to her oldest brother, coaxing a chuckle from Robb who winked at her. 

‘Hopefully, so we can enjoy some peace,’ he jested and Raya laughed.

‘Robb!’ Sansa barked the warning but Raya jumped up and down. 

‘Can I have her chambers?’ she pressed the question to her brother, of course she was up to something from the moment she heard Arya talking at the previous night’s dinner table. 

‘Raya!’ Sansa’s warning fell on deaf ears as Robb picked up his baby sister and nodded. 

‘And all her jewelry too!’ he offered and Raya clapped as they started for the corridor. Cregan and Sansa, both with dark hair and eyes, smiled at their uncle and aunt and followed Robb out, leaving the couple alone and finally at peace.

‘It feels like yesterday when we were fambling with that baby in our arms, trying to guess what she needed…’ Jon mused as he wrapped his arms around Sansa’s waist, she smiled, resting her own hands on his chest, covered by expensive fabric. She nodded her head, her fingers caressing his beard. 

‘And now she will be our Queen.’ Sansa whispered, glancing at the bed she had given birth to Lyarra twenty years ago. 

‘A good Queen, we made sure of that.’ Jon added and Sansa smiled, leaning in for a kiss her husband would never deny her. Their crowns had been given to Gendry, a few years ago, after Sansa’s wish, half her crown had been bended and reformed for Rickard’s, a personal gift to the boy she had protected and cherished. The other half of her crown, along Jon’s, had been melted together and reshaped to a new single one for Lyarra, she was to wear it on that special day, a symbol of unity when Jon and Sansa had no idea the realms would be joint because of the two young people. 

‘Allow me,’ Jon whispered and reached for the crown Sansa wore the past three years, a simple circlet with emeralds on, the green of the Gift, Sansa had smiled when Jon gifted it to her, all he knew was that he adored the contrast with her copper hair. Jon reached for his own crown, plain but heavy, dragonglass mended in the golden scales. 

They stood before each other, quiet and smiling, at last their era was ending, another one was to begin, they could finally step down and allow others to make the hard decisions, they would counsel and advise but at last, they had righted all the wrongs, the world was a better place than the one they had been thrown in.

‘South or North? We could go to Sunspear, Quentin would love to have us.’ Jon offered for their first retirement trip. ‘And you love the sea and swimming.’ Jon added tenderly as he stole a kiss from Sansa’s lips. ‘Or maybe Winterfell, or Highgarden, Raya would love the flowers there.’ Jon added after the kiss, he was just fine at the Twins, but he knew Sansa would love to enjoy some carefree time, the past twenty years had been busy raising six children and ruling Seven Kingdoms, the years before that had been hard as well, restoring the North on her own. Sansa hummed and smiled, nuzzling her nose on Jon’s beard. 

‘Sunspear is too hot…’ Sansa mused. ‘Winterfell has Arya and that means no peace…’ she added with a grin on her face. ‘Higharden would be lovely but Sam needs some peace with his never ending baby making…’ Sansa smiled and Jon waited for her, anything she wanted, wherever she wished to go and he would gladly follow. ‘There’s no place I’d rather be than here… with you and the children… This is our home.’ she added softly, Jon captured her lips in a kiss, his hands caressing the small of her back. 

‘My love,’ he whispered, their lips brushing against each other. 

‘We should be going.’ Sansa whispered back, Jon sighed and nodded, moving a step back and offering his arm for his wife who took it with a broad smile on her face. 

They moved through the corridors of their home, the guards on their spots stood on attention, the maids and servants around them bowed with smiles on their faces. They reached the Great Hall, packed with Lords and Ladies waiting, the city around the river buzzed with activity for days and so did the Hall with people from across the Kingdoms. Delegations from Dorne and the Iron Islands, powerful families from all over. Edmure Tully was there too, old with age but smiling at his niece and the rest of the family. Jon and Sansa entered the large chamber together, making everyone bow to them as they moved through the main path to the front, the doors closing behind them. On the first rows on the left, Arya, Gendry with Cregan and Sansa stood, Rickard a step forward, dressed as the King he was. He made a step forward and kissed his aunt’s hand, always in respect for her. Sansa kissed his cheek before she and Jon could reach the front row on the right, where their own children waited, Robb stood on their left, Raya rushed to her mother’s front while Serena smiled at her parents, Alaric and Osric grinned at their parents, identical and mischievous but for the time being, behaving. 

Everyone waited for a few moments, Sansa exploited the short time to make sure all her children were presentable, when ensured, she glanced at Arya who winked back at her, gesturing ever so slightly at Rickard who watched the closed doors with a wishful look, soft and tender on the hard Northern and Stormy lines of his face. Sansa could see the love there, love she had wished for all her children after the hardships she had been through in her youth. 

Her thoughts of troubled times were interrupted as the doors opened again and an excited murmur broke through the crowd, everyone turning to see the young Queen approaching the throne before the crowd on the pedestal.

Lyarra Targaryen was beautiful, a deep red dress, signaling the house she belonged in - and would soon lead of- with grey branches of weirwood ending in black leaves of the tree symbolising her faith. Lyarra had always loved her mother’s coronation dress and Sansa had been more than happy to help her sew one of her daughter with color alterations. They had blended the colors of House Stark and Targaryen through the layers of fabrics, the different textures blended around her willowy body, upon her bosom, Lyarra herself had stitched a small direwolf’s head with silver thread and a dragon head -Balerion’s- with red. 

Lyarra moved through the people who bowed, her face stoic, her eyes determined. Jon and Sansa could see through her, she was also nervous and anxious, but she was brave too. They smiled at her encouragingly and she smiled back finally, her smile turning soft and shy when she set her eyes upon Rickard who nodded proudly. 

Lyarra finally reached her new throne, a plain, polished chair with small engravings of weirwood leaves. She remained standing and Robb reached for Raya, taking her closer to him so Sansa and Jon could reach their firstborn. 

Jon and Sansa stood on Lyarra’s sides, Serena had the task of bringing closer the case of the crown that had been crafted years ago. Jon opened the box, revealing the dark grey crown of entwined metal, on the front there were three small spikes with one different adornment in them, a diamond, symbolising the frost of the North and Sansa, a piece of Dragonglass, for Jon and fire and on the front there was a ruby, for Lyarra herself. Jon took it in his hands and raised it over his daughter’s head who smiled at him. 

‘I, Aegon the Sixth, of House Targaryen.’ Jon declared first. 

‘And I, Sansa of House Stark;’ Sansa added proudly, ‘Now proclaim Lyarra of House Targaryen, first of her name, Queen and Protector of the Seven Kingdoms.’ she added as Jon lowered the crown upon their child’s head. Lyarra smiled at the chamber as they remained on their feet and raised their swords. 

‘Long live the Queen!’ Jon was the first to call out, his hand rested on his firstborn’s shoulder, just like Sansa did on the other side as everyone joined in, the Starks and Targaryens on the first rows the loudest of them all. 

‘Long live the Queen!’

‘Long live the Queen!’ 

_‘Long live the Queen!’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it, Lyarra is my precious little gem and so are her siblings and her cousins. and yes Lyarra and Rickard will get married and have babies and there is nothing wrong with cousin love, jonsa proved it, thank you very much and.....  
> Thank you for reading... all my love, stay safe jonsa fam!


End file.
